After lunch on that first day, Elrond examined Tintilien’s injury, noting that it had been agitated during the journey. Until she healed fully, she was confined to the house. Most of her time was spent sleeping, eating, or sitting in bed with her new Ada Erestor at her side, which might have been boring, had she not been a resourceful girl. Tintilien soon discovered a favorite activity: Asking Erestor questions he could not answer, or had a difficult time answering.
“What does dragon breath smell like?”
“No one would ever get close enough to one to know and live to tell the…” Erestor paused. “Actually, I knew someone who may have, but I never asked him what the breath of the dragon smelled like.”
“I thought librarians knew everything,” prodded Tintilien, her voice gentle, yet firm.
Erestor fought the urge to glare. “Contrary to that bit of misinformation, librarians know how to find everything, but not necessarily what the answer is immediately to everything.”
Tintilien yawned and drew closer the crude sock puppy Glorfindel had managed to make for her. Unknown to the little one, there was already a menagerie of stuffed animals in process, but Glorfindel insisted that she have something now. “So where would you find information on what dragon breath smells like?”
“I would suppose in a book about dragons.”
“Do you have a book about dragons?”
“No.” Erestor did not offer that Elrond had a book, having read it already and knowing that no such note on dragon breath was in the volume.
“Then we shall need to get one.” Tintilien used her hand to flop the ears of her sock puppy one way and then the other. “How fast can unicorns run?”
“Unicorns... well... I guess they could run as fast as horses, if they really existed.”
Tintilien gave her ada an odd look. “You do not believe in unicorns?”
“Of course I do not. In all my years, I have never seen one. They do not exist.”
Tintilien sat up. “I have never seen Manwe, but I know he exists. I have never seen Illuvatar, but I know he exists. Just because you never saw a unicorn, how do you know they are not real? My grandfather told me they are real.”
Erestor sat, stunned, his own explanation used to try to convince nonbelievers now being turned against him. He was saved by Glorfindel, who entered the room with a tray, three bowls of steaming soup and a loaf of baked bread upon it. “Glorfindel, are unicorns real?” asked Erestor by way of greeting as he was handed a bowl of soup.
The blond laughed. “Good afternoon to you as well, and why do you ask me such a silly question?” Glorfindel shook his head. “Of course unicorns are real; why else would there be a section in ‘Celegorm’s Guide to Beast and Fowl’ on how to hunt unicorn if there are no unicorns.” He sat down on the edge of the bed after setting up the tray for Tintilien with her lunch upon it, and gave the elfling a wink, then led them in a blessing over the food before they ate.
With a frown, Erestor started to eat slowly, making a note to track down this guide of Celegorm’s in order to check his references. In bed, Tintilien cleared her throat, and Erestor looked up. “I have more questions for you.”
Giving her a wary look, Erestor said, “Go ahead.”
“Ulmo spends most of his time in the water, right?”
Erestor nodded.
“When I spend too much time in water, your skin gets wrinkly, right?”
Again, Erestor nodded, thinking he would triumph in being able to answer the next question as well.
“So why is Ulmo’s skin not wrinkly when he comes out of the water?”
“Because Master Ulmo is a Vala, and the Valar can change their appearance. They can also aid in changing the appearance of others; Ulmo gave Elwing, Elrond’s mother, new life as a white sea-bird.” Erestor seemed slightly smug as he tore off a hunk of bread from the loaf.
“Then why can you not change your shape? You said your ada was Orome, and he is a Vala, so that means you should be able to change shapes. You could do a unicorn,” added Tintilien as an afterthought.
“No, no, it does not work that way. I am only half Ainu, so I am unable to do everything a full blooded Ainu can do.” Erestor dunked the bread into his bowl.
Tintilien took a spoonful of soup and tipped the broth away from the vegetables before eating it. “Luthien could do it. She was only half.”
Once more, Erestor became silent, this time suffering from an epiphany of sorts. “Well, it was not something I ever learned to do, and I think by now I am much too old to learn. There is no way to teach an old dog new tricks.”
“My grandfather taught an old dog a trick once,” countered Tintilien. Sitting further down the bed, Glorfindel concealed his mirth by shoving another spoonful of soup into his mouth.
Erestor bowed his head in silence, fighting the urge to tell his daughter not to ask any more questions. He always loved inquisitive children, but not when they were this frustrating!
“I have another question,” piped up Tintilien.
“Yes?” asked Erestor strained voice.
“Who is Illuvatar’s father?”
“Well... He does not have a father. He is the Father of everyone else.”
“But who made Him?”
“He just... He... He was... uh... well, you see... He...” Erestor gave Glorfindel a desperate look.
“Eru came before everything else. He was the first being, the first anything, to be. There always has to be something, right? Well, He was first.”
Tintilien nodded, and Erestor mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to Glorfindel, which was returned with a smile.
“How long do balrogs live?”
The question caused both of the adults to pale, and Erestor set his bread aside. “Sweetheart, we try not to use the b-word if at all possible.”
Giving a nod, Tintilien asked, “How long do Valarauko live?”
Glorfindel winced at hearing the name of the demon. “Why would you want to know that?”
“Because...” Having no answer, Tintilien quieted for a moment and then said, “My grandfather told me that once they die,” she paused and whispered, “balrogs”, before continuing with, “cannot come back because they get unexisted.”
“That I do not know,” Erestor admitted. “Nor do I know how long a balrog lives. Most of them were older than me at the time they were around.”
“Are there anymore balrogs left?”
“Just one, but he was just a baby. A friendly little balrog; he is in Middle-earth with the dwarves, under the mountains,” explained Erestor.
“How old is he?”
Apologetically, Erestor shrugged. “I never kept an accounting of balrog ages in Middle-earth.”
“Hmm.” Tintilien looked very disappointed and stifled a yawn. “My grandfather told me once that there are three people who should know more about balrogs than anyone else: Ecthelion, Erestor, and Glorfindel. Is there another Glorfindel or another Erestor I should know about?”
“No,” Glorfindel replied quickly, which was followed up just as quickly with, “Who is your grandfather?”
“My grandfather is my old father’s father.” Tintilien said this matter-of-factly, then crossed her arms over her chest. “Who do you think he would be?”
“What is his name, Tintilien?” Erestor was now equally as curious as Glorfindel.
Tintilien yawned, and then frowned. “I just call him grandfather.”
“But what do others call him?”
“Everyone else I knew called him Ada.”
Erestor sighed and began to stack the bowls and brush the crumbs from the bed. “Perhaps Elrond might know.”
Wrinkling her brow, Tintilien asked, “Are you going to find him and tell him that unicorns are not real and that you do not know about balrogs?”
“Oh, I know about balrogs,” Erestor corrected as he tucked Tintilien back into bed. “I just do not know everything there is to know about them.” He sighed and shook his head. “Why do you not ask normal questions like children your age?”
“Like what?” wondered Tintilien sleepily, sock puppy at her side.
“Like... where do elflings come from?” suggested Erestor, having dealt with the same query from Gwindor, all of Elrond’s children, Rumil, Ilmendin, and a handful of others when they had been Tintilien’s age.
“Oh, that. I know that already. My grandfather told me.” Tintilien snuggled into the blankets and soon was fast asleep.
“I think we have a question of our own to answer now,” said Glorfindel quietly as he stood and picked up the tray. Glorfindel waited for a reply, but received none as Erestor sat down and chewed his bottom lip. “What is wrong?”
“This grandfather... you think he knows where she is? Do you think he might try to take her away, to go live with him?”
“If he tries,” said Glorfindel, “he is going to have a balrog slayer to deal with.” He leaned over and kissed Erestor’s cheek, and then whispered, “Two, actually,” but Erestor put a finger to his lips and shook his head. Glorfindel nodded, but added, “I have a feeling if she was told that you are an expert, she already knows about that.” He gave Erestor another kiss, and then placed one upon the slumbering elfling’s forehead before leaving the room.
