“I am just not getting this.” Erestor looked over the papers, most of them littered with scribbles of black and smudges of ink. “This is hopeless. Why am I unable to understand it?”
Glorfindel wanted to say ‘because it is all fake’, but he held his tongue. “Well, I think it might be because you are unfamiliar with old math. You need to learn the... basics. The… fundamentals.” Glorfindel pushed aside the made up equations Orophin had assigned to his class and put a fresh piece of paper in front of Erestor. “To understand the fifth dimensional angles Orophin is teaching,” Glrofindel said, trying hard not to laugh at the nonsense he was saying, “you have to understand simple angles to start.”
Standing up, Glorfindel circled around and stood behind Erestor. “This,” he said, leaning over the counselor’s shoulder and making two lines on the paper, “is a right angle. There is only one way to draw a right angle.”
“And... that means all other angles are wrong?” questioned Erestor, studying the paper.
Glorfindel opened his mouth, then bit his tongue, then answered, “Not exactly. Some are just... more useful than others.” He drew another pair of lines on the page. “This is an angle of forty-five degrees, or thereabouts.”
“How can you tell?” asked Erestor.
“Well, you see, you can fit the forty-five degree angle into the ninety degree angle,” explained Glorfindel, drawing a line out from the center of the first angle. “Twice.”
“Barely,” Erestor countered, peering closer. “Oh, wait, because you add forty-five and forty-five and get ninety, that is how!”
“Exactly,” answered Glorfindel, quite proud that Erestor had figured this small thing out on his own. Erestor’s next comment made him frown.
“So what? Big deal, you can fit two of them in. What does it matter? I don’t see what reason I need to know about angles for,” he scowled.
Picking up a piece of muddled paper, Glorfindel folded it in half and then positioned the sheet so that the fold spread out in a ninety degree angle. “If you observe- the angle at ninety degrees looks as if it would be quite sturdy. If one of the sides is on the ground, the other stays upright. But if you turn it like this…” He placed the edge upon the table, and demonstrated how there was no support. “... it just falls over.” The two sides spread out, the angle no longer holding. “Now, a forty-five degree angle, here you can see, it can sustain itself, it’s a little stronger overall.” He tented the paper, displaying how it stayed steady.
“I still do not understand,” admitted Erestor.
Wadding up the paper and returning to his seat, Glorfindel mumbled, “I was afraid of that.”
With an exasperated sigh, Erestor shrugged. “I am just terrible at this, there is no other excuse for it. My mind is just not mathematical. I have just wasted your entire evening. I suppose I should just give up on it,” he said, looking over the table apologetically at Glorfindel, who was rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, that is probably my fault, too.” Erestor reached across the table and placed his hand over the back of Glorfindel’s neck after pushing his hand aside. “Better?” he asked as he gently kneaded Glorfindel’s taut skin.
Relaxing for a few moments and reveling in the decadent touch, Glorfindel suddenly grasped Erestor’s hand. “Look at your arm, how it is perpendicular to your body. Do you see what it is?”
“Uh...” But Erestor didn’t have to figure it out.
“It is a ninety degree angle.” Glorfindel, taking what opportunity he could, reached forward and slid his hand over Erestor’s arm, then down his side. “This is a ninety degree angle,” he said, and a few more times his hand traveled the path, as if he was merely pointing this out so that there would be no doubt in the matter. Taking hold of Erestor’s hand, he pulled him out of his seat and tugged him around behind his chair. “Now, from where you are standing, place your hand on my neck.”
“A forty-five degree angle,” Erestor realized as he did what Glorfindel asked.
“Yes! Now, think about it- how long could you maintain rubbing my neck from in your chair? Not very long, I would wager,” Glorfindel answered for him. “But a forty-five degree angle, you could hold that a little longer. See how much more practical it is?”
Erestor began to rub Glorfindel’s neck again. “I think I get it. I think I finally got it,” he said happily. “But then... why would a right angle be a right angle? It does not seem as if there is anything right about it.”
“Well, actually-“ But before he could explain just how right a right angle could be, Glorfindel was interrupted by a knock on the door.
