Erestor had a problem. They were running out of the rare beans normally imported as a luxury from the south, and he was not sure where they could find a supplier within normal reach of their trading agents.
Elrond’s fifth millennium was approaching, and the prospect had engendered in Elrond’s family and friends a desire for ambitiously large celebrations. Erestor needed to have plans well in hand to fulfil all their requirements, and an impending shortage of beans was a detail he wanted to remedy. Then again, a trip south might prove useful for other reasons. He mulled ideas over, while leafing through the documents before him, checking that they were signed and completed.
There was time to spare, and he grew more and more tempted. His informant’s report was securely locked away; he retrieved it, and reread it, making notes through the quiet of the afternoon. A trading delegation… There were items described here that were considered luxuries in the south, with which they could easily supply a lucrative train of goods, if Lord Elrond were only willing to fund the trip. He tapped his teeth with a fingernail. And the colts had been a good crop this year; maybe the stables would spare a couple, to add weight to their proposals if his other venture was approved. A breeding colt from Imladris… Few southern nobles, however arrogant, would despise such temptation, for the prestige of such ownership in the south would be immense. Even here, where Elrond traded freely in breeding lines for the improvement of all the Elven kingdoms’ herds, Imladris ancestry was prized and admired. More recently, since Asfaloth joined the equine population of the Vale, the effect was only enhanced.
He would have to persuade Elrond, and his Captain. He frowned, and shrugged. He could ask, at least.
He would need to assemble a willing party to manage livestock, wagons and supplies, and he would need a replacement to cover his leave of absence, if it was granted; in that moment he realized he firmly intended to go himself, if only he could persuade Elrond. Suddenly, passionately, he wanted to be allowed to go on this trip.
He sat back, squaring parchment sheets, lining up beribboned scrolls, laying his quill in its inky holder. He was mad. He would travel hundreds of leagues, ostensibly for a few small brown beans, because although Elrond never complained, it was common knowledge that he would long for more if they ever ran out. He permitted himself a small smile. If his plans worked out, he would come back after achieving far more than the purchase of a few beans.
If there had not been the tremendous rains of last year’s winter, the roads would have cleared of floods in time for spring, freeing trade to resume. They would be well-supplied in all manner of luxuries including the insignificant looking beans, and he would not be dreaming suddenly and longingly of travel, riding free day after day with the sun and the wind for company, and of personally responding to overtures he had entertained with increasing concern since their first receipt. Those floods and the consequent shortages provided the ideal excuse for the cover of a trading caravan.
The thought of leaving Imladris excited him as little had in millennia. Small mercies were often born of greater tragedies. But sometimes small mercies did not seem so small…
He sought those documents more soberly, wrote a note for the stable master, copying it for Elrond’s information, sent those off with a youngling attendant who otherwise painstakingly pursued his studies discreetly in the ante-room until Erestor had use for him, and then gave himself over to deciphering, yet again, the motives behind the approaches delicately broached in the letters spread out before him. Dangerous as they were to heed if a trap was planned, he had been tempted to burn them, but the cost of discovery for the writer if sincere was so high he had decided against; if he had taken such a risk, Erestor would honour it. If he were allowed.
The light faded and he didn’t notice, beyond absently striking light to some candles. The figure before his desk did not attract his attention. He leafed over the sheets of crackling vellum, priceless in the south and rare – he jotted that down as another item to add to their wagonloads – to refer to a point that had earlier eluded him, but now he thought he understood.
‘You must make no direct approach, but will be contacted if you come. The princes vie for supremacy and woe betide us all if the second of the heirs succeeds.’
That was all clear. But the next, had puzzled him.
‘Sanduistuin will make a sure ally in this venture, if he only comes to trust you.’
Who was that? Had there not been another comment, in his notes, by an agent years ago. Ah, here it was…
“Uhm – Erestor?”
He startled, and lifted his eyes. Oh, it was dark, beyond the three glass-shrouded candles gracing his work: the others in the outer offices had all left. Yet there was never any mistaking that voice nor the outline of that lounging figure. “Glorfindel?”
“The scribes said they could not rouse you from your studies when they left.”
He had missed their usual exchange, called from the door when they retired. Normally they at least exchanged farewells, if little more. Tonight, engrossed, he had not heard them.
Ever curious, Glorfindel pulled a missive toward him, never learning his lesson, no matter how many times Erestor took offence. “What keeps you so diligently in this dark? Won’t you come and eat with us?” He smiled, enjoying the game and moving his hand faster even than Erestor struck so that Erestor’s slap missed and hit the desk, quite hard.
Erestor winced, but rescued his letter, wondering how long he had been standing there, watching him. Erestor was aware Glorfindel often watched him, though oddly he did not feel uncomfortable about it. Anyone else would earn his cold withdrawal over such persistent intrusion; but Glorfindel, who remained a mystery to him, did not offend him. Teeth flashed white again, as Glorfindel smiled. He smiled a lot. Erestor smiled back. It had been a good day for Imladris when Glorfindel had returned. Elrond was fortunate, nay, blessed to have such an ally. Glorfindel might have his failings, endless curiosity being one, but he was easy to forgive…
“Erestor?”
“Oh, yes. I will eat, of course. If you don’t mind waiting while I put these away, I’ll come with you – or go if you want, you’ve been waiting a while?” He looked doubtfully at the intelligence and sensitive correspondence before him. Had Glorfindel in fact read the page he took? Had he scanned all of it, upside down, while he waited?
Erestor himself, always alert and not particularly scrupulous, routinely read anyone’s work if he visited their offices, just to keep in practice as much as actual curiosity. There was little of interest in the Steward’s latest figures, though he must admit, the love note among Elrond’s work had intrigued him. Celebrían was clearly missing her Lord and had touched on plans for their next meeting, that much was obvious before he averted his eyes, owing his lord at least a modicum of privacy. While Elrond did not employ him for shows of respect, he had grown attached to the lord he served: over the years dutiful form had deepened into an abiding admiration and liking, though he had never admitted it. Elrond remained wary of him; though Erestor hoped he had earned a degree of trust at least, by his years of service.
But Glorfindel, of them all, had never evinced coldness, fear or distant wariness. Sunny as the day, he had smiled as warmly on Erestor as on all the others he had greeted when Círdan introduced them, cheerily oblivious to Círdan’s glower resting on Erestor the whole time. Since then he had never given up on him, though at first Erestor had given it only hours before the others’ attitude influenced him, too.
“I’ll wait for you. There is no hurry.” Glorfindel eased himself into a nearby comfortable reading chair, to lounge luxuriously, feet stretched out, sighing in pleasure to be off his feet. Erestor eyed him as he carefully gathered up the various information he had accessed, set his notes in a separate bundle to lay alongside the rest, and locked the whole in a box. This he set in a small cupboard, similarly secured, well protected against prying eyes. No one knew about either box or cupboard, although he had warned Elrond to make sure to find his most private papers, hidden in this room, if anything untoward happened to him.
Elrond had raised his brows, as he so often did when talking to Erestor. “Should I not be privy to this store now?”
“Best not, my lord, although I will tell you what I have in keeping there.”
Elrond had fixed him with an unnervingly piercing look, taking his time about it, and then slowly nodded.
“Very well. Tell me.”
Erestor recalled himself to the present. Glorfindel was watching him again. Why didn’t he mind the Captain’s steady regard?
“You should not speak of this safe box,” said Erestor, “You understand that, do you not?”
Glorfindel nodded. “Be easy, my friend. You do not trespass in my affairs, why should I in yours?”
Erestor nodded, reassured, and then ran that by his brain a second time. He was about to interfere in Glorfindel’s responsibilities in a big way. He considered Elrond’s mainstay.
“My activities at times affect everyone’s purview, even yours, in Elrond’s interests. But I would resist any interference in my affairs by you. I do not know why I trust you as I do, but I would not wish any infringement in my arena. This is not to be revealed to any, Captain, nor investigated by you.”
Glorfindel cocked his head at the formal speech, surprised that Erestor, who so often kept quiet around him, would address him in such strict terms.
Erestor drew a false front across the door of the cupboard, until it clicked into place, along with the two shelves that formed part of the construct. He then laid his minor files on the bare open shelves with his other bits and pieces, leaving his desk clear, as was his habit. The desk drawers held his equipment, not his work. There were other cupboards where he ostensibly stored in secure safety all his scrolls, letters, notes, reports and the rest in their own locking cabinets. Only this one place was unknown publicly. He eyed his shelf, admiring its camouflage, ingenuity and workmanship.
A laugh sounded behind him. “You look like a proud parent, Erestor.”
“I suppose I feel like that. I made it, without anyone finding out. Elrond thinks the carpenter built these shelves, the carpenter thought one of his assistants had been assigned to them while he was putting up the new barn, and only two people know what it hides.”
He and I, thought Glorfindel. And I do wonder that he so readily trusted me. There was no need.
Tbc
Story Notes:
Story summary: Erestor wants to investigate politics in Harad; Elrond has doubts. Glorfindel gets involved. Disclaimer: These elves are JRR Tolkien’s; the story is solely to entertain. No profit is being made.
Warnings: AU, angst, politics, perhaps not the romance expected, slow story development. References to the past include mention of relationship under pressure, (deadly) violence, painful (non-explicit) sexual acts.
Beta: Tena chapters one to ten, Keiliss chapters ten to twelve.
Second Age plot collaboration, outline and research: Keiliss
Language help: Mallinornë. Warmest thanks, Mal, not only for the finished product but the pleasure of the journey. (Ref also to DragonFlame/Hisweloke; Fallen/Orchyd Constyne; www.realelvish.net)
Author’s notes: Written for Writing Challenge! at Little Balrog, Erestor Lovers, and LOTR AllSlash.
Favourite Addiction will be continued in a second story Southern Ventures and completed in a third.
I thank Tena for warm encouragement, research and practical information, and Keiliss for research, exhaustive plot and character debates, and feedback. And Enide, for cheering me on so uniquely.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Erestor is keen to correct supply shortages in time for Elrond’s birthday celebrations, and kill some other birds with the same stone.