*** 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 Six
Erestor stood surveying the afternoon’s handiwork with the sense of a job well done. The evening light had turned the trees brown and silver, and slate grey clouds swathed great tracts overhead between which the peach and pale blue sky showed in sharp relief. The scents of woodland vegetation all about the clearings of the settlement drifted on the air. A shifting about him drew his attention back to the nearer view. Rows of faces were looking at him. The pigs had multiplied, in the way of pigs, and a row of curious if slightly tired piglets mirrored a similar row of nearly as dirty, excited and tired children. The new pig-pen was finished and the pigs were exploring their new quarters while the children admired their achievement of the last several days.
“We’re done here. Time to wash and go home. Rinse your hands well at the pump before you go in, and remember to take your shoes off at the door. Don’t go inside with all this mud on you. And in the morning, don’t forget to bring something to count with. It does not matter what. Beans, marbles, pebbles, beads, whatever you like. A double handful or a pocketful will do.”
“Goodnight, Erestor,” came a ragged series of farewells, and Erestor bade them goodnight in return. The sky was overcast and his knee hurt. But the pig-pen would stand, and faced away from the prevailing wind. The compartmented den sections were fully enclosed for the mothers’ privacy and for comfort, with just a narrow doorway overlapped by another section of wall to prevent drafts. He had designed it so that the children could help build it and the adults had helped by cutting the split logs to size and notching the ends.
Wanting none of his usual mishaps, he had borrowed one of the handier elves, Felessor, to supervise them all. It had been a happy day, and he went in with an appetite, planning different ways to teach sums to children who had had little formal tuition yet. Many of them were new settlers from the south, elves still trickling in from the wastes where settlements had been overrun, or only slowly finding their way north to Imladris after the ruin of Eregion having been long scattered in the hinterlands during their flight. Despite those bitter upheavals and losses, time was working its healing, Valar be blessed, and the community was clearly thriving.
In giving them their own land, instead of the charity of established dwellings further down the valley, Elrond had chosen well. Both work and community were a comfort to the harshly uprooted elves, and providing Imladris with crops that were in short supply maintained their self-respect. In spring and summer the quantities of beans, spinach and greens that they grew were highly in demand, and winter wheat, potatoes and turnips proved equally welcome. Imladris felt herself well repaid for settling them comfortably in the valley slopes of the eastern headwaters.
As for their newest inmates, the pigs had been made as welcome as their master, quartered in the two unallocated fields Elrond had granted. Erestor had nodded matter-of-factly, secretly touched. “Thank you my lord, it is generous of you.”
“Well, when you return I expect you will bring the pigs back with you, so it’s only a temporary grant, after all.”
Erestor had eyed him warily. “I had not planned on any definite return – for how long do I have your leave, my lord?”
“You are not bound to return, Erestor. I am just hoping that you will, when you are ready. Please understand you will be missed.”
He had felt truly flattered, if surprised, by Elrond’s obvious sincerity. He had suspected Elrond might find his absence a relief after his various adventures outside the office.
***
Lindir was left to regroup if he could his standing in Elrond’s eyes, trust from Erestor, and his own self-respect. He made sure to meet all the requests put to him by way of musical duties, whether a begetting day song, practice for someone’s singing debut, or joining his fellows to practice some newly written quintet due to be performed. Any spare time that remained unaccounted for, he spent interviewing people about their experience fleeing Eregion, or in the case of those who had fought, about their bitterly costly retreat. He was planning a cycle of the history of that tragedy, and intended it to pay tribute to all those lost as well as celebrating the survivors’ achievements.
When his day was done, he found his rooms an uneasy refuge. Memories of Erestor adorning his pillows encroached on his waking hours and some of his dreams too. Sometimes he found his hand creeping up to his cheek, where Erestor had so competently made his feelings known. His own music, played alone wandering the Bruinen’s course, reflected all that had passed between them, from the entwined heat of their bodies, to the discord of harms done and the mournful echoes of flight and emptiness.
When he thought enough time had elapsed to avoid accusations of harassment, he took a few days leave and followed the eastern track, paying for his permission with a searching inspection from Elrond.
***
Lindir arrived late in the afternoon and with the help of directions found Erestor leaning over a waist-high fence, apparently talking to someone on the other side. Surrounding him were a rather large number of grimy children. He was a sight to behold – tipped far forward, toes on the ground, mostly only his legs and the seat of his trousers to be seen. Yet Lindir would still have known it was Erestor, even without the directions he had been offered as to his whereabouts.
“Ah hem,” he attempted, not very fluently, as a bid for Erestor’s attention, feeling a little flustered under the gaze of a dozen or more pairs of eyes.
“… Come on Shirrial, let me show them to the children,” coaxed Erestor, “Thatsa girl…” He got up off the fence rather to Lindir’s regret and made to address the children, then saw Lindir. His mouth tightened and he said to the nearest child, “Open the gate a little way and peek round the corner; they’re only two days old so be quiet and quick and then let someone else peek.” He bent over the fence again and scratched a porcine ear, murmuring to his favourite, “Oh, don’t be so silly. They’ll be very quick and they’ve never seen such little ones before. They’ll never forget this, so let the children admire them for a moment, sweetling.”
*Sweetling?* Lindir wrinkled his brow. Erestor called his pig ‘sweetling’?
He found himself, unlike the pig, neatly evaded.
“And, here, class, is another high treat. Lord Elrond’s Harper, Lord Lindir himself, come all this way to see you…” Erestor’s eyes spoke maliciously even while his lips smiled. He knew how these children would react to such a dignitary, too long travelled in the wilds and absent any of the refinements of life save their parents’ innate dignity.
Surrounded by round eyes, open mouths and eager questions, Lindir could not readily extricate himself. “Are you really the Harper?” “Is that your harp?” “Ooh, your hair is such a funny colour,” (an the offering from the smallest waif, who clearly had never seen a Sinda before.) “Will you play for us?” “Do you know the Oliphaunt song?” “We’re having milk and biscuits next, are you hungry?”
Erestor quietly sent the second eldest in search of some parent or elder to inform them of the Harper’s visit, left the eldest child with the rest in case there was some need for a knowledgeable messenger, and made his escape without a single word spoken to his pursuer.
Engaged relentlessly in conversation at the communal table that evening, and then made comfortable for the night, Lindir was left to hope to speak to Erestor in the morning. Alas, arising as he thought early, he found only the food left for him in the deserted kitchen. Everyone had long gone to their work. Even the school classes started soon after dawn. The children might have morning chores but like farmers everywhere, life here started before sunrise and Erestor had adapted to fit.
Kicking his heels, Lindir learned that school continued until mid-afternoon, and though there was a generous nooning break it afforded him no opportunity with Erestor. Instead Erestor never emerged and the children, seeing him, besieged him. Making the most of a bad job, with all a minstrel’s instincts Lindir picked their brains to learn all he could, hardly the most arduous task he had ever set himself – more a case of trying to keep up with a barrage of disingenuous chatter. A picture emerged gradually from the flood.
After lessons there might be games or some communal effort like the building of the pig-pen, or there might be work for all to do in one of the harvests, where Erestor let the children teach him. Erestor might be slower than others, or sometimes gave up and sat to rest, but no-one ever commented, confided one of the boys, clearly envious of the license to slack while at work. Lindir smiled to think of Erestor’s bright clothes among the hanging leaves, diving into the depths of the bean runners after their green treasure, or Erestor picking pea pods with enjoyment. “We get lots more picking done,” said a small girl who seemed very low down at his hip. “He tells us stories and the time goes really quickly. And the boys don’t fight so much, either.” She shot a disapproving look across Lindir at the equally undersized (to Lindir’s elevated eye) boy opposite who stuck his tongue out at her.
The evening was a repeat of the day before and, on the morrow, Lindir waited for noon only to be disappointed yet again. Erestor took no break himself, as he was explaining to Lindir when Illiduil arrived. An older pupil, a farmer in fact, met with Erestor’s warm if quiet welcome, and they settled to discuss the latest reading that Illiduil had done. The young farmer, not long past his majority, had been starved of schooling as were so many of these refugees in the years of hardship preceding their arrival in safe haven. Yet he was a scholar born, and planned with Erestor’s encouragement to apply to Elrond for employment of a different kind.
“But first, I must learn all those books of lore I have not studied properly, and there are the languages, too, that I lack.”
“There is no problem,” encouraged Erestor. “Time will permit all that you hope to achieve. Only give it time and application. See how well you are doing.”
Lindir, half-thinking that Erestor might forgo part of the lesson to give him a short audience, found himself much mistaken and perforce kicked his heels again for the rest of the school day.
***
“Erestor, please let me speak with you…”
“Of course.” Erestor spoke courteously as if it were no concern at all to him that Lindir had finally found his chance, but then, “I am very glad to see you. There is a boy here who I believe should be sponsored in your craft. Will you meet with him and test him? As best I can, I attempted to do so, thinking to send him up to the House. He confirms all I suspected. He would be overjoyed to be given a little of your time. If you can spare it.”
That barb flew home. They both knew Lindir, in hoping to speak with Erestor, had nothing but time on his hands, who was making not the least attempt to be available to him.
“Of course.” Lindir would never neglect a child to whom the music called.
A genuine smile graced Erestor’s face and Lindir’s heart flopped at the sight.
“My thanks, I’ll arrange it.” With that he was gone, off toward his dwelling. Lindir decided to let him go without pursuit; he would await another opportunity.
***
The boy offered him a series of pipes. “I couldn’t get any of them to come right,” he said, ashamedly producing what Lindir had asked to see.
The wooden tubes were lovingly attempted, Lindir could see, and polished to a richness that showed more of the same care. “May I?” The child nodded, half-eagerly, half-fearfully. When Lindir blew, the tone was good, rounded. And then, on trying the next note, he winced. “I see what you mean, but such a lovely timbre. I think your instincts have served you well.” He laid the pipe down with respect and tried another. He forgot about Erestor and the base thought that he might please him by cherishing this boy tenderly.
Time passed unnoticed until a voice in the doorway, sounding amused, summoned them to eat. “They say music feeds the soul, but the body, too, has its requirements. Come, both of you, come to supper. You can always carry on later.”
“Thank you.” Erestor’s words warmed Lindir as he passed him in the doorway. “This was truly kind.” Lindir blushed, for it had been no effort at all, and the praise was undeserved.
“Erestor, it is nothing. The boy is worthy and my duty as well as my inclination demands it. A genuine pleasure.”
But Erestor still repeated his thanks and put a hand to his shoulder in a valedictory pat.
Lindir found himself happy while he ate and found it hard to dwell on conversation when he had even a little of Erestor’s approval to bask in.
He stayed a couple more days, and then left, only to return regularly, finding out what Gwinor had picked up or taught himself by trial and error, and learning more about farming, pigs and children than he had ever wanted to know. Then he began to teach Gwinor in earnest, partly to see if he could take to the necessary discipline before uprooting him to Imladris and the musicians’ tuition there.
***
It was during one of these visits that Elrond himself rode down the valley. He could hear laughter coming from the building he sought, and voices upraised in song. And giggles.
To the elf that greeted him on his arrival, he put a rather hesitant question. “How is he getting on? Not too many disasters, I hope?”
“Well, no, not really. And the children are settling into the lessons far better than we had hoped.” Serrin smothered a wry smile. Erestor had indeed had one or two misfortunes, but nothing too dire. The chimney fire had been easy to put out, being only soot ignited by a too fiercely laid fire, and the children’s race that had coincided with the sheep round-up had just been a matter of time to herd the flock once more. Fortunately, she had managed to dissuade Erestor from helping with the sheep by way of mending matters.
Elrond found a surprising sight before him as he opened the door. Lindir, elegant Lindon lord, was holding forth at the front of the room, playing a song that had apparently begun as a farm song. Each child had been given an animal to perform on cue, and this was causing gales of laughter. A favourite was the bull, which an older boy was proving most adept at, receiving an accompaniment of shrieks. “Again, again!” But Erestor won the prize, so far as Elrond was concerned. He had adopted what he taught them was called a camel, and proceeded to mimic it rather too realistically, grimacing, biting, spitting (thankfully only pretending) and kicking – an endeavour which he managed very cautiously, but to much hilarity, picking Lindir as his target. There followed a discussion about deserts and more animals. A chorus of disbelief met the story of the frogs that could lie dried out in the mud until the rains came and come alive again miraculously with much to-do of croaking and leaping, resulting in more squealing laughter. This introduced a series of tales from the children about wonderful things they themselves had seen in their more local world: eggs in nests, snakes of gorgeously patterned scales, the tiny field mice that ran so fast and had such long tails. Then Erestor caught sight of their audience.
The children sighed in disappointment, to have story-telling cut short.
“Tomorrow instead of grammar we can finish your stories,” consoled Erestor
They beamed and chattered and so it was that Lindir was not at first heard when he said, “I could stay and take them.”
Elrond and Erestor stared at him. A roomful of children, no matter how eager, was a far cry from a court’s halls and a discerning adult audience.
He saw their disbelief and flushed. “I would be honoured,” he said, “If you were to let me.”
***
Erestor led the way out. “I hardly expected you to come yourself, my lord. I hope you did not feel obliged to.”
Elrond gave him a warm smile and surreptitiously inspected him closely. He was as flamboyantly dressed to teach as he had been for his lord’s service. He seemed to be well, much like his old self. A pity he was still too self-effacing. “It’s a pleasure to have an excuse to come out here.” He was well pleased with what he saw on all fronts, except possibly Lindir’s presence.
Once they had attained the privacy of Erestor’s quarters, Elrond poked and prodded to his heart’s content. “You know, if this tissue goes on knitting as it seems to be, there is a possibility that you are going to see some improvement. When it has settled a bit more, I may see what Vilya can achieve.”
Erestor was rather too occupied in controlling himself to answer. Elrond’s probing fingers hurt too much for easy silence. In any case, he hardly felt overjoyed at the prospect of the promised healing attempt. He did not lightly forget the last such sessions. Elrond had had to work slowly, carefully and with minute attention to detail. The burning pain of the ring’s work had been hard to endure with dignity and before it was over Erestor had vowed to himself that next time, dignity be damned, he would have Elrond set two burly healers on him to hold him still so that he could struggle and curse Elrond as much as he pleased.
Clearly the outcome of this present torture was pleasing to his lordly attendant, for he proceeded to see quite mercilessly how far he could straighten and bend the joint, and just what angles hip, knee and foot could manage. Unhappily reminiscent of a rather different incident, Erestor lay on his back hoping Elrond would soon give up, while his leg was pushed and pulled at every conceivable angle.
At last permitted to rise and dress, he invited Elrond to the kitchens where Erestor searched the pantries. Wine and bread and cheese sufficed them, with a slice of rhubarb and blackberry pie each.
Elrond broke the silence after studying Erestor’s serene countenance. “Is he bothering you? He asks my leave often. I wondered if I should refuse him, but trusted you to tell me if there was any problem.”
Erestor shot him a look. “Lord Lindir? He’s teaching a boy here, Gwinor. He doesn’t get much chance to bother me. He’s in demand by children and adults alike.”
Elrond smothered a grin, glad to hear Erestor was not giving Lindir an easy time. “There is another matter. I want you to know that your own place is waiting for you when you want to come back. When you are willing to come back. I’m not letting you retreat here forever.”
“The children…”
“The children will have other teachers. I will send someone.”
“Someone they like.”
Elrond was amused that Erestor fought for the children when on his own account he was so quiet. “You can interview them yourself.”
“Not yet, my lord.” Anxiety tinged Erestor’s voice at the thought of returning. Lindir was rather overwhelming and he felt himself angry still. Yet he had not been able to forget the pull of the harper’s attractions. And with his knee… He wanted all the time he could take away from the office and halls where he was all too easy for the pursuit to corner. Here, he was the master of the situation, let Lindir visit as often as he chose.
Over the weeks and months that followed, as Lindir continued to ride eastwards up the valley every second week or so, staying for two or three days, Erestor remained content to let him.
***
“Erestor, I am going back tomorrow. How long will you avoid me for?” Erestor had shown no sign of relenting. Lindir felt he had been patient and well-behaved for so long that the edges of him were fraying with the effort, his mind straying at tangents more and more often, always ending up with the same focus: a dark-haired elf half-clothed on his back, gladly welcoming his attentions, wanton and waiting.
“Walk a ways with me. It’s early yet,” urged Lindir, even knowing how uncivilized their hours were and how early Erestor could retire. Sometimes he suspected it was his own presence driving Erestor to private sanctuary that had him seek his bed so soon. Or maybe it was his knee, hurting.
Erestor measured him with one long look, and then to Lindir’s surprise agreed. “I suppose you have earned it.”
Erestor was not sure what to make of the insistent perseverance that had continued without the least encouragement. He had enjoyed his brief time as satellite to Lindir’s early interest. So deeply enjoyed it in fact that he was all the more wary now.
That excitement had been pricked and burst in short order, along with his willingness to trust. Apprehension and disbelief that Lindir could want him with his flawed body, and the discovery of his – Erestor did not have a word for it – *disregard* for the very two people towards whom Lindir should have practiced most consideration, left him doubtful in the extreme, and yet the attraction remained as strong as ever, a war he fought with himself and reluctantly admitted he would eventually lose. He had fought the rearguard action determinedly, shoring up defences for as long as he could before he succumbed. Defeat was inevitable. The only unknown was how large a fool temptress hope would yet make of him.
“Come then. I like to visit the pigs and walk up to the coppice on the rise. The view can be good at sunset.”
They talked very little until Erestor had gazed his fill of the lowering sun. Lindir was more taken with Erestor than the other wonders of nature around him, but pretended for form’s sake to enjoy the scenery. Yet it worked its magic on him too.
In the aftermath of the sunset’s glory, he asked quietly, “Are you going to give me another chance?”
“I am not aware you have asked me for one.”
It was not rejection, not outright, despite the frosty tones. Cautiously, Lindir reached for Erestor’s arm and very gently, very carefully took hold of it. He brought them face to face and looked into Erestor’s eyes. Wariness. His own must be hot with desire, he supposed, and blinked, ashamed. “Please, Erestor, I explained to Lorillien, I sent my father home, they are long gone. I did my duty and offered her all that she asked in amends. I am not sure she even minded – she was not overly impressed with my father and frankly holds me in low esteem. She is a high prize and our hearts were not engaged. She will contract another marriage and no harm done.”
No harm done… Erestor tensed.
“No, please, I needed to tell you it is over and I put it right as best I could. But you – I find far harder even to begin to offer my apologies.”
“Why should I care what you do?” Erestor tried to speak coldly, and failed. They both heard the words betray him. That it was desire and not hurt that coloured his voice was little comfort to Erestor.
Lindir brushed his lips, once, with his own. Both his and Erestor’s were dry and so caught a little before separating. Their eyes met. “Because they are your due. And because I hope, very much, that we have unfinished business.”
Erestor turned his head away from the intense green eyes, wondering whether he would yet curse himself for giving in to his body’s clamour. Lindir’s hand, resting gently on his arm, felt warm. His involuntary shift closer, halted no sooner than begun, was a second giveaway and one which Lindir did not miss for all its brevity.
Very slowly still, giving Erestor every chance to refuse him, he drew him close to repeat the kiss, slowly but not hesitantly. He let his hands travel around Erestor’s back to draw him a little nearer and felt himself relax utterly – it felt so right to have Erestor once more in his arms. He kissed his hair, expressing his fervour in that less intrusive demonstration. He overcame the desire to haul Erestor into his body and kiss him until all his resistance evaporated. He thought he could succeed but the price of failure was too high. And there was always afterwards to take into account. He refrained. They stood together amidst the gathering dusk, Erestor relaxing little by little with each small touch as Lindir smoothed his hair, circled his back with one palm, and dropped further odd kisses. Time passed. Erestor’s complicit presence was encouragement enough.
Parmasambe
Library of Imladris
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