*** 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 Four
Erestor had taken to visiting the gardens more often of late. From their inception he had taken a close personal interest in the projects that were creating the grounds around the house. As soon as the working day was done and he and Elrond went their separate ways, Erestor would often find one of the gardeners to ask after the latest plantings or simply chose a garden to explore. He knew them all – herb garden, vegetable garden, fruit canes. Orchards. Rose garden, and the domestic wilderness with its grassy expanse filled with trees and shrubberies belovéd of the birds. With every week that passed plants were visibly maturing.
Today he discovered that the kitchen garden, recently flattened by the pigs, was recovering. Squashed marrow leaves had revived, bean stems had straightened up again healthily that had bent to the ground under trampling feet, baby marrow had escaped destruction. Pleased, he moved on to the orchards.
He knew the pigs had followed him that day, for he had been feeding them – there was something about pigs that Erestor loved – and unfortunately he had taken a short cut over the new hedge to get back to the house. Shirreal, intent on the hope of another apple, had not taken that normally sufficient boundary for a deterrent, and the others had followed her. Into the kitchen gardens. He had not guessed the peril at the time, for the pigs had taken a while to root their way under and through the fledgling hedge. But one of the gardeners, when Erestor asked, confirmed with a wry look that Shirreal had indeed made for Erestor’s point of departure hard on his heels. The gardener, witness from a distance, had not arrived in time to fend the pigs away from their illicit incursion. Erestor supposed he would tell Elrond. He had not had the heart to do so yet.
He scratched Shirreal’s head and told her off. He greeted the rest of them and sat for a while, enjoying it all. Fresh air and sun; the smells that carried with each shift of the breeze; the pigs in the orchard around him, happily dozing or nosing along the hedgerows. They had the run of a large succession of uncultivated fields up into the woods beyond, but they were fond of windfalls and visited the orchards most days at this time. Creatures of habit, pigs.
Erestor mused on pigs he had known and avoided thinking about horses, or minstrels, or outings with teenagers, or his sex–life in general. Or other matters. The back-log of work. Knees in particular. Fed up, he refused to dwell on any of it, and when he had reviewed most of what he recalled about pigs, he started to make up poems about them, soothed and happy on his bench in the sun, lazing the remainder of the late afternoon away.
‘There was a pig large and pink
Who when fed started to think
Some more of that treat
Would only be meet
So she trespassed and caused quite a stink.’
He giggled.
Even for a first attempt it was a low effort. Shirreal was not even pink, being a rather handsome brown and black saddleback.
Feeling amused and restored he was ready to go in, have a long wash, change for the meal and join some friends for a game of Morgoth’s Wrath. He rather liked playing Morgoth’s part and having all the dark forces to array on the board. It could get intense toward the end, but always offered a welcome challenge. Many chose not to have anything to do with the game, but he subscribed to the view that life was a vast mixture of experience and little point shunning any part of it. Whoever designed it had been realistic in the rules, and Erestor was careful who he played it with. But since strategy was a hobby of his, he found it utterly absorbing, raising all sorts of possibilities that could have transpired. What if…
He shrugged. If wishes were horses, wanderers would ride. Strange saying. As if Inglorion would ever want his forces of stealth mounted. And there was no profit in such wishes. Horses abounded for the asking here in the valley, but this elf would be doing no riding no matter how hard he wished…
As he made his way to the house, Erestor began designing a two-wheeled, three-sided cart that a horse could pull, imagining the least amount of tack to be comfortable and still work, figuring out the balance of the cart and the lines of force, and imagined himself galloping around seated in the flimsy contraption with a willing accomplice between the shafts. He smiled and added a safety bar across the front. And brakes, as an after thought out of mercy for the poor horse. Deeply engrossed and grinning at Elrond’s face if he borrowed even the least belovéd of his horses for such an enterprise, he ran into a solid object in his path where none should be.
“Lindir!”
“Can I talk to you? How is your knee?”
“My knee is very well, as you see, thank you. Elrond is good at what he does. I have learned my lesson.” He spoke easily. There was no need to discuss this with the Lindon minstrel no matter how silver his hair, how green his eyes, or how hotly Erestor remembered the feeling of that capable hand splayed flat and hard between his shoulder blades holding him firmly down.
“Erestor, there is no easy way to tell you this. My family are due to visit Imladris. My father, in fact, and he is coming to see me married. My fiancé travels with him.”
Silence.
Lindir forged on. “My father proposed the marriage long since - I refused but he took no notice. He made the arrangements and when I said, fine, he would have to follow me to Imladris with the bridal party, I did not mean it. Yet he wrote to say they are on the way.”
“And when did you hear this news?” Unassuming Erestor took on an immense and quiet dignity.
Lindir was taken aback by the authority conveyed in the question. “The letter that came…”
“A week before we got together. That letter. Your marriage arranged, your bride on the road, and you knew this?”
Put that way it sounded terrible. He tried to soften the impact but his minstrel’s skills had abandoned him. “Yes, but Erestor, in Lindon these things are understood…”
Erestor looked around for a short moment. Clouds in flight over the valley’s arboreal bounds, the orchard’s cherry trees mixed with apple and pear, and the pigs, curiously advancing behind Lindir. He eyed them impassively, thinking, ‘Just one shove where it counts, Shirreal. For me.’
“Correct me if I am wrong, my lord. Does this look like Lindon to you? And this the royal herd of pigs, perhaps?”
Lindir eyed him dubiously. “Erestor, I am trying to apologize – ”
Erestor took one step closer and slapped Lindir efficiently and hard on his left cheek. His arm was strong, his aim was true, and he rocked Lindir sideways with the forceful impact. He hoped it pained Lindir more than his own stinging palm and bruised bones.
“Erestor!”
There was sure to be a bruise, and Lindir would sing tonight with a black eye, or perhaps tomorrow if it took a while to develop. Erestor surveyed the white mark already turning red with satisfaction and considered a second swipe since the first had felt so good, but refrained on account of his own dignity.
“Anything else?”
Lindir shook his head.
Erestor made sure to go the long way round, not to tempt the pigs again.
***
At an insistent threefold rap on his door, Elrond looked up from his book, surprised. He valued this oasis of calm in his day, the hour he took for himself before dressing for supper. While Imladris’ inhabitants generally understood that he could be approached in his offices, in the halls in the evening, and whenever he was out and about as he was most afternoons, they honoured this time as sacrosanct. He found Erestor standing on his threshold with an odd look to him, and was about to invite him in with a questioning smile when he was interrupted.
Abruptly and awkwardly Erestor said, “Just so you know. The pigs were following me when they broke into the vegetable gardens. I was feeding them and climbed the hedge instead of going round. I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
They looked at each other, Elrond in a comfortable state of déshabillé, Erestor with an edge to his stance that spoke of more than invasive, determined pigs.
“Do you want to come in, Erestor?” Elrond stood back from the door and gestured. Erestor followed him in.
Elrond’s voice really was very calming when he wanted it to be, thought Erestor irrelevantly. Elrond was not going to be pleased about pigs, fistfights and absconding. He was too angry to care and sounded neither defiant nor apologetic as he continued levelly, “And I hit your minstrel. Your oh so lordly Lindon harper.” He was shaking with what he had thought was anger. “He’s getting married. Apparently he’s known for a while. I’m not staying here. I thought I should tell you that, too.” He shrugged.
They sat for a while, over wine Elrond poured for them, until Elrond broke the quiet of the serene chambers. “Where will you go?”
“Not Lindon for sure,” said Erestor, moodily. “I would not like their manners.” The casual contempt came out with a sincerity wholly indifferent to Elrond’s Lindon affiliations. “As long as I get away from this house, it doesn’t really matter. Maybe I could go up to the end of the valley where your farmers are building?”
“What would you do?”
“Keep pigs, maybe.”
Elrond laughed. “I’m sorry, Erestor, but pigs? That will surely put him in his place…” Yet they both knew that Lindir had done ill to treat him so casually. Elrond was not amused. And Erestor was – hurt? Annoyed? Surely both but he could not quite tell in what proportions. Erestor was always hard to read.
“Maybe I could take Shirreal with me.”
Who was this? Elrond knew everyone in Imladris and beyond. This Shirreal was new to him.
Erestor saw his blank expression. “One of the pigs.”
Elrond blinked. He was serious then?
Decisively, Erestor got up to go. “I have your leave?”
“Of course. But I count it only temporary. I would not want to lose you, Erestor. You must know that. Just a leave of absence for as long as you need.”
***
He finished the last of his packing. If Elrond really did want him back he would yet return, he supposed, and he liked this room that had been home for so long. Most of his clothes were carefully stored and would remain here. He swept a hand along the wooden couch back, and picked up the small carrier. The larger packs were already downstairs where a small escort awaited him. On joining them, he chirruped to Shirreal and the three other pigs he was taking, and they ambled up to the horses. Pigs and horses would travel at a staid walk and it was not so far to go.
***
The farm buildings were coming along well. The community had welcomed the idea of a teacher for the children and Erestor was comfortably allocated a pleasant, sunny room in one of the larger houses and made welcome. He was unpacking but paused when his hand fell on something he had not stowed himself. He withdrew a plainer version of the strapping device than Elrond’s recent, elaborate gift. This one was as kindly padded and also beribboned, this time in plain brown velvet, easy on the skin, and of the same soft leather but devoid of decoration of any kind. Far more comfortable than the old one he was wearing.
Elrond had rightly guessed he would lay aside the silver and turquoise ornament that was fit for a lord’s company.
Parmasambe
Library of Imladris
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