*** Second Age After the Fall of Eregion ***
The sun rises,
The sun sets
And the earth turns
While love is found
And lost
And found again.
But you I will love eternally.
***
Chapter One
Out of the west a traveller came swinging along the trail, packs shouldered high. Mindful of his surroundings, still he gave an impression of having one foot half in another realm until Glorfindel planted himself in his path. Abruptly he was all attention.
“Stay your steps for a moment, of your goodness.”
“Who might you be to waylay a traveller doing no harm?” Like recognized like as the two elves faced each other; both self-possessed and confident, both displaying noble features hinting of incipient tendencies to good-will.
A slow smile grew on the soldier’s face. “No-one in particular, my friend. May I ask, where are you heading?”
The patrician head turned warily at the sound of others closing in. He lifted an enquiring eyebrow.
“They are with me and will not harm you.”
“So you say. Yet there is much trouble abroad in these ill days.” The traveller rested his hand on the hilt of his hunting knife, business-like and well-used, going by its worn handle.
“Not between us, however, I assure you.” Acute, blue eyes were taking in the shape of the packs. “By any chance, do you head for Imladris?”
An inclination of the head – no words spared for this intrusive questioning from a stranger.
“I am Glorfindel, her captain. I will send you there, under escort. And – which road did you come in on?” Urgency now in the question.
“I come from the west. On the more northern path. Why?”
“Did you see any sign of five elves or their horses? Any sight or sign of trouble?”
“I did not. And if there were any to see, I would surely have noticed.” His answer spoke to the other’s urgency. He would have given his own name and said more, but for their hurry.
The soldier nodded his thanks curtly and at his gesture, two of the armed and silent number fell in with the traveller, the rest melting rapidly on their leader’s heels back into the woods aside the road. The sudden encounter with the illustrious living legend left the waylaid elf busy with his own thoughts as he once more took to the path, the escort at his back as quiet as he.
***
Informed of the three arrivals, Elrond went out to take his guards’ report. “Well? What did you find?”
“Nothing, my lord. We found only him, coming down the north-western path. Says he saw nothing, so the others are trying the south-west road.”
“You’ll head back out?”
“Aye. When we’ve eaten. Captain said bring horses back with us. We’ll have to widen the search if they’ve found nothing by then. ”
Elrond nodded and put a hand to a dusty shoulder in wordless, anxious thanks. “And what of this one?” He glanced at the third elf.
A shrug for answer. “Out of the west. Heading here. He didn’t say more. We didn’t ask. Came back to see him safe and to bring you word.” With a single horse appearing riderless where five elves should have returned together and mounted, and with the search so far unproductive, they had been in no mood for conversation.
Elrond smiled a little sadly. His guard were more taciturn by the month in these times of threat and rumour, at least in the presence of strangers. They left the initial moves of hospitality to Elrond’s reliably discerning eye. It would be long before echoes of events in Eregion stopped reverberating down the years.
He turned to the third of the party, packs about his feet, carriage as upright as one might adopt at the outset of a journey, let alone its end.
The newcomer’s thoughtful eyes regarded the retreating backs of the two far wearier elves – their hunt must have covered a lot of ground and fast. “My friends.” His bell-like voice, compelling without being loud, easily arrested their progress. “My thanks.” He bowed.
They nodded briefly and then departed to wash, find a meal and possibly a change of clothes. Their erstwhile charge wrinkled his nose. He thought they should certainly opt for the change of clothes… Clearly they had been hard-pressed in their hunt.
Elrond gave his attention to the stranger. “Whom do I have the pleasure of welcoming to this house?”
“By name, Lindir.”
Quiet. Composed. And not adrift. Not lost. Not fleeing. Elrond sighed. Black times. Who would come through the wilds so free, and so unbowed? Elrond wondered if he could guess, by his looks alone. “Your business?”
“I ask to speak with the Lord of this place.”
The traveller looked round with a critical eye. The valley was broad enough that the sun would reach the floor for much of the day. Enough that a flowering vine flourished up the wall of the house. Elegant mansion. Impressive palace for a line of kings. Strong fortress in time of need… Phrases hovered in his mind, begging to be used.
Taking in the sight of it, he was in no hurry to go in. And beside him his escort seemed in no greater haste to move him on. The walls were high, the windows many and generously proportioned – from the first floor and above. At ground level, only narrow embrasures looked out, though there were many of them, he granted, to let in the light. The place was fast earning renown, yet he had never seen it with his own eyes. And her Lord with his priceless bloodlines? Therein already lay a history, albeit tragic. They would all be grateful if the future was to prove less dramatic.
He sighed to think of the duties of his calling, remembering what he had seen: from kinslaying to war to the last of the great battles of the Elder Days, where blood enough had been shed to rout their greatest Enemy. Most lately, a kingdom raised from ruin only to fight once more against a resurgent servant of that Enemy. Lindon had stood, Ost-in-Edhel fell, Imladris was born, and now an uneasy almost-peace was pitted with skirmishes against pockets of this second enemy’s hold-out forces, while elves went on counting the cost.
Yet smaller scale worries had not been precluded. Ereinion had been troubled about his absent friend and sent Lindir here, tangible sign of ongoing care.
*** Previously in Lindon ***
“You will write, when you can? You are not unwilling to go?” Ereinion wondered if it was quite fair to send him hence after his relatively short sojourn in court.
“I will write; when we cannot send to you, I will still write and save those letters for safer days on the roads. And I am more than willing to accept this assignment, I assure you.” Something in Lindir’s expression spoke of relief at the prospect.
The King smiled. “Change your mind. Take an escort. I could make it an order…”
“No. It is my right, my profession’s heritage, to travel lightly on the road that any may invite me to play, and offer in exchange a meal and a place to lay my bed.” His blanket roll lay with his packs, ready for the journey.
“It’s dangerous.”
“We had that argument out already. Ulmo holds his hand over me, far though I stray from his bounds. Or so I choose to believe, despite these hard times.” A strange smile played on his lips. He kissed the King’s ringed hand, briefly going on one knee. “But promise me you will take care of yourself, with neither Herald nor minstrel to nag you?”
“Up and on your way. There will be no more rude manners toward the King with both of you gone, that I do know!” Fondly, Gil-galad drew him to his feet, to kiss him and bid him fair weather and fair meetings.
*** Present day in Imladris’ courtyard ***
The elf was taking in every visible detail of the house so avidly that Elrond himself was drawn to see it with fresh eyes. Stone had not quite begun to weather and mellow but the woodwork was pristine and the plants had grown and done well. The orchards were beginning to gain maturity. Hawthorne hedges and beech were bedding in and their laid branches growing one into another, granting shelter to protected beds and gardens, windbreaks for the north-easterly winds that could sweep the valley at times. The tall walls had been long under construction, a gracious place. He could even imagine calling it home, one day. One day.
Meanwhile, he had a stranger to welcome. “Come in. I will introduce you to Imladris’ lord.”
***
“Captain.”
Glorfindel swung around and followed the quiet call. Illisar was beckoning the rest of the scout party with the all’s safe signal. When Glorfindel arrived beside him, he saw a small group of figures huddled in a hollow, peering up at them anxiously. Glorfindel made his way past the scout, intent on descending the incline and finding out what had happened. Holly blocked his way, saplings bent to his passage, brambles caught at him, tearing skin. He ignored the familiar inconveniences in his haste.
A blinding smile met him out of disordered hair and torn robes. “I knew you would come. The horses spooked and Erlion fell. I think there were orcs after us. I judged we should let the horses go and wait hidden. Judging by the noise we heard they went after the horses, I am afraid. I am so sorry.”
Exasperated, Glorfindel looked around the woebegone faces among whom the speaker, at least, was waiting for an explosion of wrath. This pleasure trip gone awry had caused far too much heartache and he was not inclined to add to it. He left it to Elrond to tell Erestor off. Again.
“How is Erlion?” Glorfindel asked Illisar, who had joined them and was bent over the injured elf.
“I broke my arm and it hurts, but Erestor has bandaged it,” said the youth for himself. “I can walk.”
And at that, Glorfindel knelt down to check the job was done to his own satisfaction. He missed the hurt in Erestor’s eyes. With an officer’s habit, Glorfindel felt and checked and inspected, tested for slack and finally rebound the fastenings. His fingers worked with a skill born of years of practice, his mind occupied with thoughts of orcs.
Erestor, already downcast, flushed while he gently gathered the others up in readiness for the road.
***
Lindir’s escort led the way to a study the like of Ereinion’s in scholarly furnishings. When Elrond perched on the edge of the desk, and said, “Well?” understanding dawned. Lindir first laughed and then bowed very low indeed.
“I joined the King’s service after you rode out, and have now come at his bidding to act as some kind of comfort to him, by means of witness and news.” He unstrung the opening of one of his packs.
The harp was small enough to be portable, yet must still be a weight to carry, thought Elrond, taking in Lindir’s broad shoulders. The wood was smooth, burnished mahogany, darkening to black in places, and Lindir’s loving hand was as possessive on it, as tender, and as delicately wooing as he might be toward the most belovéd heart’s companion. Strong fingers slid along the wood to lift it and place it at Elrond’s feet. Lindir followed on one knee.
“Will you accept my service Elrond Eärendilion? Harper to your court? I ask no honours if you have already those who play for you, only that you permit my presence… Ereinion Gil-Galad King has asked it of me. He sorrows at this parting and seeks to secure a record of your doings, high and low.”
“High and low?” Elrond’s eyes danced with humour, and the warmer knowledge of Ereinion’s ongoing regard. “You have a taste for farce, I take it?”
Only yesterday had pigs run loose through unfinished orchard bounds into the kitchen garden. Last week, horses, bored, had taken off into the hills on their own recognizance, despite their grooms’ care, and had taken an inordinate time to coax back to the more boring, but safer, stables and local paddocks. And today – his lips tightened. Today, another escapade to add to Erestor’s tales, less amusing. He trusted Glorfindel to bring them safely home. He was counting on it.
Lindir grinned. “Aye, that too.” He might like working for this Lord.
***
The next interview in Elrond’s office was rather less pleasant. Glorfindel had indeed found the strays and shepherded them back, along with the three horses his mounted scouts had gathered in. The orcs had got the fifth.
Erestor listened attentively, all too accustomed to doing so, still in his worse-for-wear attire. Neither one had wanted to delay a conversation that could not be comfortable.
“To go so far afield. To take one so young and so inexperienced a rider to boot. To take no *escort*, Erestor!”
Brown eyes refused to plead. “I had no intention of going so far. Erlion and Astarriol wanted a race and I was too late to stop it. I deemed it best to take the others on to keep us all together. Once we caught them up, they begged to explore the wood just for a little. It seemed very beautiful and all was quiet. I gave permission.” He said it all with dignity, without excusing himself. “I made errors of judgement, my lord. I know it. And I am sorry about the loss of the horse.”
Another set of accidents. How many times had he stood here, facing Elrond after some unfortunate happenstance? Grateful for his place and the work he was entrusted with, it was not his way to burden Elrond with his remorse or distress. “I will heed all strictures for outings in future, clearing them with yourself and then with the Captain.”
Elrond sighed. Unfortunate indeed for the horse, but it was not as if Erestor had done anything forbidden. A pleasure trip. A ride out. A kindness done to four of their uprooted, immigrant youth, settled here, parentless. Sometimes he wished Erestor was rather less kind and rather more practical in his haphazard starts.
“Erlion will heal well, Erestor. You did a good job, he was in little pain thanks to you, despite the fracture, which they say is a bad one. The healers have him well in hand.”
Erestor flushed with pleasure at receiving this encouragement and sign of approval.
“Well, I am sure you have things you need to do,” said Elrond, looking about his own desk rather than dwelling on Erestor’s dusty, ragged person.
Erestor flushed again, and bowed. “My lord.”
***
At the end of the day’s adventures, Erestor counted among his blessings their safe rescue and Erlion taken care of. The four surviving horses were little the worse for wear. That was all that mattered, he told himself, after he had offered fitting thanks and apology to the Captain and his elves. Under Glorfindel’s steady eye it had been – humiliating to say the least. He would far rather have been subject to a reproachful or scathing outburst than that jaundiced restraint. He had sincerely offered his amends and now found himself lacking an appetite.
He arrived at table amidst a brief hush. Having taken the time to make his way to the garrison buildings, and thence to the healers and Erlion, he was late by the time he had washed and changed. Elrond and Glorfindel both frowned at his arrival, frivolously adorned on such a day as had seen a dozen elves hunting high and low for a party in his charge. He had not thought how it would look, only that to dress well for the meal honoured his lord. Dressing to celebrate life and all its joys. He wished they were slightly more in evidence at this moment.
Not for the first time he regretted that the lord’s assistant had a place at high table. Not for the first time, he was sorry he had not only taken on the job in those hectic early days, when all those who were able were needed for fighting or for building, but that he had proved apt enough to manage the tasks well. Sufficiently so to be kept in high office even after Imladris expanded far beyond his humble origins and abilities, so he thought. But Elrond had not released him from his service, despite repeated hints.
Good-natured, easy-going, the stress of business never got to him, never slowed him down with worries or indecision. He could deal with a matter or delegate it or pass matters of critical import on to Elrond with equal facility and his lack of ego meant that he was approachable and easy to work with. Elrond, did Erestor but know it, valued that highly in him. Erestor had no airs and graces that must receive their due, no pride that must be pandered to, such as a high-born son would have brought to that outer office. In Lindon only a noble would have been granted such a position in Elrond’s affairs; here, Erestor’s innate empathy got the best out of people of every degree. His good-will, his understanding, his appreciation made them give of their best and want to please him.
But never had Elrond worked so closely with anyone so utterly hapless. And apparently brazen. Erestor slid guiltily in gold silk slippers the last few feet to the table and made his bow, earning stares for both his tardiness and his looks. Copper coloured tunic and leggings, cream shirt, gold-embroidered buttons and similarly worked sash, dangling gold earrings with garnets matched by necklace, bracelets and hair clasps – all spoke of celebration and carefree heedlessness of his late appearance, rather than remorse for the tired and dusty travails of a platoon of the guard along with their Captain, and the worry of all concerned. He did not miss both lords’ frowns and unhappily took his place, smiling cheerfully, humbly pleasant over the meal.
Elrond was hosting a stranger, unmistakeably Sindar and undeniably handsome in a rather aristocratic way, with eyebrows darker than the bleached-oats colour of his hair, a substantial, straight nose and shapely face. Erestor listened to talk well and wash around him. Curiously he looked over occasionally, and found himself smiled at. He smiled back, and ate his dinner as behove him despite the accident, the terror for his charges, and the shame of being yet again at fault.
***
A little way down the table, the harper watched the subtle play over the latecomer’s arrival with interest. What a beauty this one was. And so – outré. The word had never been more apt. Small bells jingled from an arm bangle with every neat movement the elf used to eat his economical serving. His smile was infectious. His eyes – sad. Lindir wondered at that and noticed his somewhat reserved air, in contrast with the ease that clearly the high lord and his equally noble Captain shared. Glorfindel. Of Gondolin. Whom Lindir was more than pleased to meet. The opportunity to hear of that city firsthand was one Lindir profoundly appreciated. Yet Lindir’s own birth lacked for little and he kept both his place and his share of converse with nonchalance. Unlike the dark elf at table with them who seemed a little subdued. He played for a smile, and when he got one, wanted another. He answered Elrond’s question about Ereinion’s current Council and the moment passed.
Story Notes:
Pairing: Lindir/Erestor
Rating: R
Sindarin translation: Malinornë
Disclaimer: The elves belong to Prof JRR Tolkien, no profit is made, and this is for entertainment only.
Warnings: References to injury inflicted.
Author’s Notes: I thank Kei for gracious patience, for encouragement and feedback, and Mal, for the lovely Sindarin translation.
Written for Slashy Santa Swap December 2007 for Zilah.