Never a morning person, Erestor was still rubbing his eyes sleepily when he approached the large windows of his sitting room and peeked through the curtains, hoping to see whether the milkmaid was about to pass by his door. Instead of looking down the path to see if this was the case, he found himself looking for the path itself. It, along with most everything else, was hidden under snow. Not a light dusting or a thin, translucent layer, but piles and drifts of thick, unforgiving snow. To cap it off, as he looked up, he saw massive icicles hanging down from the second story overhang.
Just in case he was subject to some cruel joke, he fetched a cap to cover his unbrushed hair and a robe for additional modesty. Each of the small residences in Imladris were woven together through a series of attached hallways that were entered through the backdoors of the small houses, allowing easy passage throughout the buildings without ever having to step outside. It was a security measure above all else, but it created a haven against weather or allowed for travel to a friend’s house at night with little fear of wandering wolves or angered boars.
Erestor left his house and entered the corridor. His ‘neighborhood’, as it was called, consisted of his home, Lindir’s modest abode, the butcher and his family, a carpenter and his wife, and one other house with a very noticeable and easily identifiable crest painted on the back door, adorned with emerald and topaz inlay. He attempted to ignore the door at the end of the hallway, for there was a memory that he attempted to block daily, and looking at the door only brought it to the forefront of his mind.
Through the windows that showed the north lawns, he had the same view as he had through his own windows. Frowning deeply, he was about to enter back into his house when he heard a door open. It was Lindir’s house, and he was letting out the very milkmaid that Erestor had been looking for. “Miss! Excuse me, I need a pint here, if you do not mind waiting while I fetch the money for it.”
The milkmaid, who had been giggling at some joke Lindir had told her, now furrowed her brow and looked sad. “I am so sorry, sir, but the cows were too cold this morning to give much milk. I have just sold the last bottle. I might have more later,” she added, hoping this might appease.
Lindir interrupted before Erestor could answer. “He can come across the hall and have breakfast with me.” He made a motion with his hand.
“I would not wish to impose,” said Erestor.
“Nonsense.” Lindir made one motion to shoo off the maid, and another to beckon Erestor. “Come, now, and stop protesting.” There were few who would invite Erestor in, and fewer still to make continued request of it, for Erestor was known for his intellect, wit, and inability to consider himself wrong. Lindir, however, had perfected the use of the phrase ‘We shall agree to disagree’ when around Erestor.
Erestor looked at the bottle in Lindir’s hand. He was not particularly fond of being social before noon, but at the same time he knew his mood would be soured for the entire day if he did not have breakfast. “Thank you for the invitation. I will join you shortly.”
Twenty minutes later, Erestor was sitting down at Lindir’s table. “Have you been out?” asked Erestor.
“Outside?” asked Lindir to clarify. When Erestor nodded, Lindir laughed. “Outside in the snow – no. I will be wandering my way to the Hall of Fire later, but not via a stroll through the garden. It seems cold, though, if the temperature of the milk is any indication.”
Erestor reached over his plate and set two fingers to the glass bottle. His fingertips became chilled almost immediately, and he drew his hand away. “Do you think it is cold enough for water to freeze?”
“Probably.” Lindir used his knife to stab a piece of sausage.
“Large bodies of water?”
Lindir shrugged. “There are icicles hanging from the roof. If water can freeze as it drips down from the sky, why not when it is still in a basin?”
“Surely this is mere happenstance. No one will actually believe that it means anything if it is frozen over at the river,” reasoned Erestor to himself.
“Sometimes you have to suck it up, admit you are wrong, bend over, and take it like a man.” Lindir grinned at the glare that Erestor gave to him. “Do you still believe that you are right?”
“I believe that I had a valid reason to believe—“
“Do you still believe you are right?”
“—that with all of the evidence available—“
“You just do not stop, do you?”
“—I was correct in the assumptions that I made.”
Lindir shook his head. “Is that a no?”
“Not exactly.”
"Then—“
“At the time, I had a very good reason to believe that I was correct,” said Erestor.
"Do I look like I care about what was said over a hundred years ago? I want to know about now. Do you still think you are right? Do you think the marriage between Elrond and Celebrian is purely political?”
Erestor picked up his glass of milk and drank slowly.
“Twin sons born just yesterday... beautiful little family, wonderful demeanor that they have with each other...”
“Fine – maybe he was... more right than I was.”
“Oh, my goodness, I can see why he left you,” admonished Lindir.
Erestor slammed down the glass onto the table, but not until after he had finished it. “On the contrary, Lindir, I left him. And, as I have said before—“
“We know, we know. You will admit that you were wrong when the Bruinen freezes over. I guess that means you have a little traveling to do this afternoon.”
“Indeed, I do, and despite the snow and cold, I am certain that the wall shall still be flowing when I get there. Thank you for breakfast,” said Erestor as he stood up, though his tone was icy. Lindir gave a nod, and waited until Erestor left and was back in his house before he took a stroll down to the ornately painted door at the end of the corridor.
Story Notes:
Pitch Hit for Miniual Nuwing for the 2011 My Slashy Valentine Exchange