Outside on the windowsill a pair of tiny birds tweeted their greetings to the young elleth sitting on the other side of the glass panel. Tintilien had her nose pressed against the window. She had attempted to open it twice, but with only one hand, it made the task impossible.
Her stomach had made a few growls, but she was pretty certain that the very tall elf who was asleep in the rocking chair beside the bed was supposed to be her new father. She had a feeling that he more than likely would feel bad if she wandered out of the room and found breakfast on her own, but on the other hand he looked so tired that she would feel worse about waking him before he woke on his own.
Every time she asked Lord Elrond who her new mother would be, he dodged the topic. Tintilien might have been little, and young, but she would be the first to point out she was not as dull as a day spent churning butter. It did not surprise her very much, then, when a very pretty he-elf made a number of passes outside the door until she finally surprised him by opening the door as he walked by. “Well met and good day to you,” said Tintilien politely with a curtsey.
“Oh! Uhm... w-well met, little one.” The ellon bowed slightly at the waist and then stepped into the room. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did.” She pointed at Erestor. “I doubt he is. Who are you?”
“Me? My name is Glorfindel,” he said, taking a pillow from a shelf in the closet. He gently lifted Erestor’s head and slipped the pillow behind. Erestor yawned, but did not wake.
“Is that your bonded mate?”
“What? How do you know about such things?” asked Glorfindel as he stooped down to be eye level with the elfling.
Unable to cross her arms over her chest and look formidable, Tintilien settled for resting her hand at her hip. “I know a lot of things. I ask a lot of questions. Even when people answer them with questions, I still get answers. You two are bound.”
“How did you come to that conclusion?”
“You have matching marriage bands,” said Tintilien. “So, am I right?”
“Yes,” answered Glorfindel carefully. “Is that alright?”
“You tell me.”
Glorfindel narrowed his eyes slightly. “You seem pretty adult for such a little one.”
“I get that a lot.” Tintilien went to a tiny table with three little chairs and pulled one of them out. “Have a seat, Glorfindel. I have some questions for you.”
Blinking, Glorfindel stood and shuffled to the table. He wondered why Elrond had not warned them of the little one’s interesting personality, or if the Elf-lord even knew himself how she was. Sitting down, Glorfindel attempted a bit of small talk. “You know, I bet this table would be great for tea parties.”
Tintilien paused her movement. “Tea parties?”
“Sure... you know, tea parties, with your stuffed animals and dollies.”
Scooting her chair up to the table, Tintilien continued to eye up Glorfindel with caution. “I hate tea. Besides, why would have a party with dead animals?”
“No, not dead ones. Stuffed animals... ahm, soft toy animals, like the ones you sleep with.” Glorfindel looked over his shoulder at the bed, and saw no sign of anything of the sort on it. “I guess you do not have one of those.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Sorry.” Glorfindel made a mental note to acquire a stuffed animal for the child the first chance he had.
“Can I ask my questions now?”
“Yes. Ask anything you want,” offered Glorfindel.
Tintilien leaned her chin on her hand. Both of her elbows were resting on the table, and Glorfindel concentrated on looking at her face and keeping his eyes trained on her dark brown ones so that he did not glance at the healed stump where her left forearm once had been. She looked past Glorfindel to Erestor, still asleep in the rocking chair. “Is he older than you are?”
“Much,” answered Glorfindel almost immediately.
“How much?”
“Many years.”
“How many years?”
“More than ten thousand.”
Tintilien’s eyes grew huge, but only momentarily. “How long would it take to count that?”
“About three or four hours, depending on how fast you spoke.”
Now Tintilien gave Glorfindel a look of disbelief. “How can you know that?”
“I happen to be a mathematician,” answered Glorfindel smugly, which was true. Elves, as a whole, were terrible with figures, but equations tended to be as natural to Glorfindel as shooting an arrow in the middle of a mark. Actually, in some ways, shooting an arrow in the middle of a mark WAS an equation, but Glorfindel had given up explaining that to his contemporaries many centuries ago.
“So you just add numbers all day?”
“No, I do a lot of things. But sometimes, yes, I spend time adding numbers.”
“That sounds boring.”
The ellon smirked. “I get that a lot,” came Glorfindel’s reply.
“What does he do?” asked Tintilien, looking at Erestor again.
“He is a librarian, and a private tutor. Sometimes he writes, too, and he occasionally acts.”
“Acts?”
“On stage.”
“Oh.” Tintilien nodded her approval. “So you are both scholars.”
“Now we are. When we were in Middle-earth, we were more like warriors. Not like, we were,” corrected Glorfindel.
“Ah. You have nice hair,” remarked Tintilien.
“Thank you.” Glorfindel heard the faint sound of an empty stomach and asked, “May I pose a question?”
“You just did.”
“May I ask another?”
Tintilien tried not to smile. “Again, you already have.”
“Oh, you and Erestor are going to get along SO well together.” Glorfindel shook his head. “I was going to ask if you were hungry, and if you wanted to come with me to have some breakfast.”
“Yes, please.” Tintilien stood up and followed Glorfindel from the room. They did not need to walk far to get to the kitchen. Although no one was there, someone had left a plate of potato pancakes and a bowl of applesauce on the table, along with a pitcher of juice and three cups.
“Apparently, someone was much more optimistic that Erestor was going to be joining us,” said Glorfindel as he poured juice for them and set the third glass aside.
They ate in silence for a while, which was something of a relief for Glorfindel. It seemed that Tintilien could not go very long without asking questions, however. As Glorfindel refilled her glass, she inquired about Erestor once more. “How did you fall in love with him?”
Glorfindel shrugged. “I just did.”
“Does everyone accept it, or do they just tolerate it?”
“What?” Glorfindel set down his glass. “What do you mean?”
“You know, do they like it, or do they just put up with it?”
Taking a deep breath, Glorfindel let it slowly out. “We happen to be very lucky to have a very understanding family, who is very open-minded. I know that a lot of others, even my own father for example, would rather not ever see or hear of a same gender bond, but Erestor and I are fortunate to be among friends.”
Tintilien frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I am... answering your question.”
“I meant, because he is so old. Most of the time, the gap in age is hardly more than ten years. Does anyone ever say anything about that?”
Glorfindel, full of relief, chuckled. “You could care less that Erestor and I are both male.”
“Why would that matter?”
“Can I hug you?” asked Glorfindel. Instead of waiting for an answer, he leaned over the table, minding the applesauce, and embraced Tintilien. “I think I love you.”
Tintilien was distracted by Glorfindel’s hair, which was close enough for her to touch for a few moments. “Your hair is so shiny.”
“Thank you. I take really good care of it,” he said as he settled back down.
“Can you show me how?” she asked. “Mine is so dull, but I wish it was soft like yours.”
“I would love to help you with it,” beamed Glorfindel.
‘This one is too easy,’ thought Tintilien. ‘Which makes me wonder how the other one is.’ She drank the rest of her juice quietly before she asked, “Did you both fall in love with each other at the same time?”
“No. I was in love with Erestor for a very long time before he returned my love.”
“What did he do that made you fall in love with him?”
“He fell off a horse.”
“Really?”
Glorfindel nodded. “He fell off a horse and into a river, into the mud.”
Tintilien giggled. “That must have been really funny to see.”
“It was, but I was also mad and worried because someone made Erestor’s horse run wild. Luckily, I was there and I was able to save him.”
“But what if that was what made you fall in love with him, and if it had not happened, you never would have?”
“I never thought about it that way,” admitted Glorfindel.
“So, do the others tolerate the two of you or do they accept you, when it comes to your ages?”
“For the most part, I think they are accepting of it. I know there are one or two who tolerate it, but personally, they either think of Erestor as a per—as a person who ended up with someone too young, or they say I should not have fallen in love with someone so much older than me.”
“That is very interesting,” said Tintilien, but she did not elaborate why. “So your own father did not accept the fact you are inverted?”
“Inverted? Where exactly did you pick that up?”
“My grandmother. She told me it is not polite to say gay or queer, even though that is what my father used to refer to one of the helpers he had that worked in the stable. She told me it is much better to use the word ‘inverted’.”
Glorfindel picked at the tablecloth with his thumbnail. “I think I might be less insulted to be referred to as faggot than as inverted.”
The expression on Tintilien’s face showed her concern. “I thought a fagot was used for kindling.”
“There are probably some people in the world who might agree with you about that.” Glorfindel shook his head. “That was wrong of me to even say what I said. It just happens to be a very, very offensive way of referring to those like me.”
“You sound like the sort of person who dealt with a lot of people who did not accept you.”
“Most of them did not even tolerate me, either. But most of that was way back in Middle-earth, not here.”
“There you are.” Erestor entered the kitchen, stretching his arms over his head. “I was a bit worried when I woke and you were not in your bed.”
“Glorfindel and I were just having a discussion about tolerance, and how old you are,” Tintilien explained. She slid the plate of pancakes to Erestor, whose mouth was hanging open and asked, “Would you like apple sauce?”
“No, thank you, just the salt.” Erestor sat down, and looked down the table at Glorfindel, who was avoiding his gaze. “So I am old, am I?”
“You are very old,” said Tintilien. “Much older than Glorfindel. But I would not worry; you can hardly see the wrinkles.”
“The what?” Erestor laughed, slightly uneasily.
“The wrinkles.” Tintilien climbed across two chairs and sat down on Erestor’s lap. “These, wrinkles, here, Ada. The ones at the corners of your eyes, from laughing a lot.”
If Erestor had planned to retort, it was swallowed upon hearing the word ‘Ada’. He smiled, and looked down the table at Glorfindel, who was smiling back at him now.
As for Tintilien, she had decided she was tired again and was snuggling against her new father’s warm chest. ‘Who knew this one was going to be easier than the first?’ she wondered to herself before she drifted back to sleep.
“So, I am old?” questioned Erestor after he had carried Tintilien back to her bed. He was tucking her in as Glorfindel opened the window to let in fresh air.
“She brought it up, not me. I am going to warn you, though, she is going to be a handful. How old did Elrond say she is?”
“Eight. Why?”
“She was saying things I would hardly expect from an eighty-year-old.”
Erestor nodded. “I know. I was standing outside the door for a few minutes.”
“So you... you heard everything, then?” asked Glorfindel, standing by the window with his back to Erestor.
“Yes.” Erestor walked to the window and drew the curtains to dim the room. “I was thinking, since it looks as if she is going to nap this afternoon, that maybe I should go find a horse to fall off of.”
“Into a river?” asked Glorfindel hopefully as he trailed out of the room behind Erestor.
“Oh, perhaps I can tolerate falling into a river, as long as the water is warm enough” answered Erestor.
Glorfindel smiled. “I can accept that.”
