Chapter 3
“Little Erestor! Come quickly or we will be tardy for the performance.”
Erestor bustled around their sitting room, completing his preparations. Imladris had been in a frenzy since the arrival of four wandering minstrels. Little Erestor had not slept a full night since he learned of their upcoming appearance, and once they arrived he had not stopped singing. His humming and singing and whistling had increased in amount and volume until, annoyed, Erestor had unthinkingly ordered him to cease. A look of pure pain had crossed Little Erestor’s face before he stomped away. Instead of immediately following him to apologize and still frequently at a loss on how to handle his small charge, he had ruminated on what he would say. Time ran swiftly while he thought on his problem and now the show began at half the hour. He knew he must coax the elfling from his room, for Little Erestor would never forgive him if he allowed this tantrum to interfere with his overwhelming desire to see the troubadours.
Erestor called out for the child again and again while he knocked on his door. His persistence was rewarded when Little Erestor hesitantly emerged from his room. His mouth was set in a full pout and he was clearly still upset.
Erestor would have to settle for a quick apology now, and later if necessary, they would speak further. “I am sorry, pen dithen. Your singing is beautiful and I apologize for shouting at you. It was very unfair of me, and I ask that you sing or hum or whistle whenever the mood suits you. Can you forgive me?”
Little Erestor looked up. Still no smile, but he nodded his head. It disheartened Erestor that his little one could not find reasons for ongoing happiness. He berated himself for his angry admonition. The child loved to sing, and he would not stifle this one bright spot in Little Erestor’s life. Tonight’s performance might be just what he needed to lift his spirits.
“If we do not hurry we will be late and all the best seats will be taken. Let us depart quickly,” he urged as he grasped Little Erestor’s shoulders and guided him out of their quarters.
A steady stream of elves filed into the Hall of Fire. The ever present fire pit radiated warmth and welcome from the middle of the room, and the wood-scented smoke wafted up to the rafters and beyond. The flames danced in brilliant shocking colors; bright reds dominated before being chased away by dazzling blues which were swallowed by greens and yellows in a blinding swirl! It popped and sizzled as specially dyed rocks burned in the heat. The audience gasped and exclaimed as the fire’s ever changing dance caught their imagination. Spectacularly garish swatches of plush velvets and satiny silks draped the walls and the ceiling in no recognizable pattern. Though he could not understand how, he had been told this would improve the sound quality of the performance.
In the background, rising above the din of voices, some unknown instrument beat out a prominent single note in a steady staccato pattern. Without realizing it, the audience moved and talked in cadence with this beat until they were, as a group, one. A thrum of excitement danced along Erestor’s skin and he felt himself drawn into the magic of the upcoming performance. He heard Little Erestor’s sharp intake of breath, felt his body relax, and knew that the ever-absent smile must finally be playing itself across his face.
Erestor laughed as the elfling jerked out of his grip and raced for the twins. The three had become inseparable and together were creating havoc amongst the population. Each day reprimands had been dealt out to Elladan and Little Erestor and occasionally Elrohir. Still, the social aspect of having friends his own age had stayed Erestor’s hand in breaking up the trio. Even now he could hear their excited voices above the noise as they chattered away about this evening and pushed their way through the throng. Heedless of other tongues raised in protest, they efficiently sliced their way through the crowd and none made to halt their progress. Squeezing themselves between already seated elves, the three plopped on the floor, front row center. Effortlessly they had secured the best seats in the Hall.
Smiling and shaking his head Erestor found his own place well back against a wall but with a clear view of his charge. He scanned the attendees in search of a golden head of hair. Glorfindel and the perfect Lady Amlugeth occupied seats to the right of Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían. In a moment of unforced synchronicity their eyes met across the room and Glorfindel raised his hand in welcome. Erestor had a stronger reaction to seeing Glorfindel’s hand, hard and competent, beckoning him to join them. But, as he made a move to rise, the Lady Amlugeth turned to see who had caught Glorfindel’s attention. She rooted Erestor to the spot with a glare so full of venom that he slid back down the wall into a sitting position.
Saved a confrontation by the beginnings of a thunderous applause, he gratefully turned his attention to the four bards who entered the Hall and climbed onto the small, raised dais. Their gaudy, pied costumes, studded with multi-colored gems sparkled brilliantly against the backdrop of a hundred sparkling candles. One carried a large potted instrument with a taut surface that appeared to be a stretched skin. From this odd instrument came the slow steady metered beat. The others had stringed instruments of varying size.
They were a unique combination of elves and humans. The two elves, Taliesin and Aneirin, both Noldor, with raven hair and green eyes, were barely taller than most elflings and as slender as young willow trees. They moved with an unnatural grace, even for the Firstborn, and their smooth voices had entranced Erestor immediately. The two humans, Dafydd Gwilym and Iolo, were an exercise in contrasts. Where Dafydd was quiet, Iolo was coarse and loud, where Dafydd was tall, Iolo was short, where Dafydd was round, Iolo was significantly rounder!
Erestor, face hot with remembered embarrassment, focused on the four musicians whom he had not seen since their entrance in Imladris. Upon their arrival, he had met, welcomed, and escorted them to his office to conduct business. All four had quick smiles, however, and even quicker tongues, and Erestor had swiftly found himself outmatched as well as outnumbered. A bottle of strong wine had appeared and with dizzying speed Erestor had found himself hard, flushed, and removed of his robe. Hands soft yet demanding had stroked and cajoled and he recalled willing participation as he reached out in kind. An unwelcome rescue had come in the form of Glorfindel. Erestor could not remember exactly what had occurred, only a blurry whirlwind of blond hair and jumbled shouts of outrage and pain, and then nothing. The next morning he had awoken, alone with a nasty headache and his insistently erect cock. Unfortunately, Erestor did fearfully recollect brief moments after his friend’s intervention; leaning on Glorfindel, whispering unknown words into Glorfindel’s ear, pulling Glorfindel down upon his bed.
Now it was three days later and his face was still red.
He had been warned of the bard’s reputations. For the last ten years the four had presented a show that demanded viewing. Initially, just the odd mix of two elves and two humans performing together was enough to draw a large crowd of onlookers; however, as word of their striking entertainment spread, more attended for the music and the showmanship. Erestor had petitioned them for years and finally secured, for an outrageous price, two shows.
Only after he crowed long and loud about this success did he begin hearing the more base rumors concerning the four. There was, it seemed, much talk of their unusual relationships with each other and anyone they could tempt into their rooms, their disruptive behavior in pubs and baths, their destructive antics when too much wine or ale was consumed, and one toe-curling episode involving King Thranduil that Erestor refused to believe.
Erestor set into play many precautions, upon hearing these tales, and had personally trained four of his assistants in their temporary role as esquires for the four troubadours. Only once did he suspect that his plan had failed but when he inquired of Assistant Meneltin regarding his unusual side-shuffling gait, Meneltin had easily explained it away as too much time on horseback. It seemed the four bards loathed walking and rode from place to place even if the distance was short. Erestor let the incident pass without further inquiry as his assistants had done a superb job in managing the peace in Imladris. And secretly he was a bit jealous of the possible joys Meneltin might have found at the hands of the bards. He was also suspicious that Glorfindel had exerted some influence on this peace, but he was silent on the subject and Erestor had no desire to speak of that night.
Peaceful would not now describe Imladris. Every child was on their feet clamoring for a better view, waving their hands at the performers, and a few emitted ear splitting screeches upon being noticed by one of the bards. The musicians smiled patiently, tuning and strumming their instruments until the Hall quieted enough to begin the first song. The cadence of the potted instrument never ceased.
They knew their audience well and began with a collection of children’s songs. The bards encouraged all to sing along, and voices, old and young, lifted up the melodies of childhoods long gone or those newly entered. Even Erestor could not help but hum along for he could never recall all the words but the tune never failed him. He swayed with the crowd, lost himself in recalling his childhood, as each song brought back the pleasant memories of home, his naneth sewing a favorite tunic, his ada teaching him to wield a sword, his gaggle of siblings all snuggled together in front of the fire as ada read some exciting story.
Erestor blinked back to the present as the last stanza ended and the crowd erupted with good natured applause. Those recollections that brought him comfort were the very memories that would haunt Little Erestor. His family, whoever they might be, had been snatched away by the brutality of nature. He turned his attention to Little Erestor who, though presenting a serious face seemed to be enjoying himself as he chattered away between each song. When a new tune began he would jump to his feet, latch his arms across the shoulders of each twin, and the three would sway to and fro mimicking the beat as they crooned out the choruses.
The performers regaled them with a variety of refrains and flirtatiously included ribald songs so cleverly evasive that their innuendo was lost on the innocent. The moments made even more amusing as the adults snickered at the hidden humor while the elflings exchanged confused looks.
They quieted when a particularly poignant and moving ballad began retelling the deception of the jewel-smiths of Eregion. The sharp melancholic chords emoted the evil influence of Sauron and his smooth ensnarement of the jewel-smiths. The soft lyrics were purposefully light and gay representing their purity. So painful was the collective memory of the deception that it forced a hush across the gathered elves. And then, a diminutive but conspicuous voice rose above the performers. Its lines clean with no waver or shrill as the voice blossomed and filled the Hall. It delicately touched the high notes with effortless ease and sustained each to the end with breathless clarity, until even the bards were merely accompanying the inspired singer with their strings. The voice, a heart-rending reminder of innocence present but unwittingly forfeited amidst the tragic story. At the end, the last note echoed off the high ceilings, cascaded down, and tenderly touched all those in audience and forced a sob from Erestor’s chest.
Little Erestor stood, at the front of the crowd his back to them, his face tilted upwards, and his arms reaching skyward lost in his world of song. All eyes were upon him as his small throat emitted the final note. It was not until the first hesitant claps began that he opened his eyes, turned, and surveyed the room. As the applause turned to a deafening roar, Little Erestor blushed a deep red and quickly huddled between Elladan and Elrohir. The twins embraced him in their arms and heads down they exchanged unknown words.
The remainder of the performance was lost on Erestor. He instead found his eyes trained only on Little Erestor while he sat entranced by the singers. His charge’s eyes never wavered even when Elladan, obviously tired of sitting still, started pulling on his braid, playfully punching and pushing him. He ignored him long enough that Elladan, defeated, placed his head on Little Erestor’s shoulder and appeared to drift to slumber. Claimed by sleep long before, Elrohir’s head already rested in Little Erestor’s lap.
All too soon the entertainment ended, and Erestor went to retrieve Little Erestor who had run for the stage as Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían carried off the sleeping twins. Erestor caught glimpses of him standing at the side of the platform, shy-faced and nervously wringing his hands while his eyes glittered with excitement. He was obviously hoping for a moment with the bards and as Erestor finally made it to his side so did the bard Aneirin, who leaned down to speak with Little Erestor.
Erestor nervously grinned as Aneirin, who had obviously caught Little Erestor’s pungent aroma, quickly schooled his face and moved a respectable distance away. Little Erestor, who did not notice the minstrel’s distress, was prattling away asking questions about their work as performers.
“Counselor Erestor, are you his ada?” Aneirin asked, interrupting the babbling.
“Nay, but he is under my tutelage. Is he not an inspired singer?” Erestor smiled down at Little Erestor and placed an arm around his shoulder.
“We are agreed in this, Counselor. His voice is as sweet and clear as the Bruinen run new from its source. His talent is evident, and I counsel you to encourage him. When he is of age we would gladly take him on as a student.”
Erestor shot a stern look at Aneirin. Surely the bard realized he remembered their first night in Imladris. “We shall see. He is young yet and may find some other suitable profession.” Erestor looked at Little Erestor in time to see a fleeting expression that clearly stated Never!!
“Please pass my gratitude onto Taliesin, Dafydd Gwilym and Iolo. Your performance was most excellent, and we welcome you back in Imladris anytime. I will see you tomorrow and we will conclude our payments. A pleasant eve to you.” With a small nod of departure Erestor gently dragged Little Erestor away from the stage. His heart leapt with joy when Little Erestor turned to him with a rare smile before bounding off for their rooms.
~oOo~
Erestor surreptitiously parted the curtains and gazed out. Another perfect day graced the valley and a vision of loveliness stood right outside his window. Anor was at mid-sky and its glaring brilliance reflected in the glint off the polished sword hanging from Glorfindel’s belt. The belt which also encircled his perfectly trim waist just above… Nay, he could not afford distractions this afternoon as he had an extremely important briefing to conclude.
Erestor reluctantly drew his eyes upward and focused on the two elflings locked in fierce combat, their sticks, shaped like swords but with no points and no sharp edges, knocked against each other violently. It was an awkward battle, showcasing their inexperience and over aggressiveness. The hot days of summer had brought with it an appearance of the fiery temper possessed by Little Erestor. The child’s anger boiled ever near the surface and Erestor now spent more time reprimanding him than teaching him. It seemed there was no end to his fury. He shouted and fought every edict. The quiet lost elfling of four months ago had found his voice on the night of the bard’s performance and he insisted on being heard by everyone near and far though his wrath seemed particularly concentrated on Erestor.
Elladan and Little Erestor grunted with the effort of the fight. Their serious faces reflected the concentration they were putting towards its end. Both headstrong and willful they were evenly matched in their competition and it was clear that neither accepted losing as an option.
Erestor smiled with hopeful relief. This was exactly what Little Erestor needed, an activity to quell and channel some of his ever present temper and frustrations. Erestor was grateful to Glorfindel for inviting Little Erestor to the twin’s private sword play sessions even though the three constantly bickered. And their frequent squabbles were quite literally pushing Glorfindel to the edge of madness; yet he refused to confess his defeat and continued their lessons.
He thought in amusement of the time not long ago when the elflings were involved in yet another dispute regarding, of all things, apples. All three had emphatically brandished their dull paring knives wildly, talking over one another, in a confused and heated attempt at swaying the others to their position. Little Erestor had sworn every apple should be eaten whole. Elladan had demanded that all must peel their apples while Elrohir had staunchly defended his position that all apples must be cut into quarters and all the seeds painstakingly removed before they were consumed.
He and Glorfindel had watched in amazed amusement exchanging smiles or commenting on a particularly well thought out argument by one of the elflings. Glorfindel, finally tiring of the monotonous battle had looked at Erestor with a weary face but mischievously glinting eyes. He had fingered his blade and with all sincerity said, “It would take but one swipe of this sword Erestor and…snick! Three little heads would roll. All this noise banished with small effort.”
Glorfindel had then leaned back in a fake swoon, back of his hand against his forehead and continued. “And, as I am still quite delicate from my perilous journey from the Halls I would take no blame. Imagine how quiet our days would be and, of course, the ellith would flock around me, fluttering and fawning over another tragic occurrence in my life.”
For a single heartbeat Erestor was convinced that Glorfindel would do exactly as he said. He had borne witness to countless moments where Glorfindel’s black moods raised their ugly heads, and though they had lessened as the years passed, they still appeared irregularly. He was unsure if this might be one of those moments. But then the spell was broken when Glorfindel tilted back his head and released a giant roar of laughter. He continued his outburst until even the elflings could not ignore it, and their verbal sparring came to a sudden halt.
Erestor grinned again as he remembered the looks on the young one’s faces. Their argument forgotten, they stared slack-jawed at Glorfindel, their eyes darting to each other as if for support of what they were witnessing. And then their feet started to shuffle. Elrohir was the first to bolt with Elladan strong on his heels. Little Erestor, however, stood firm, transfixed by the scene, and looked upon Glorfindel with such wonder and kinship. It was clear that he understood Glorfindel’s momentary madness.
A cry wafted up from the court, cutting short his ruminations. Little Erestor gripped his right elbow, his face red as he shouted at Elladan.
“You hurt me!”
“I did not! And anyway it was your fault. You dropped your shoulder,” came the quick retort.
“You did that on purpose, you maggoty orc!”
Elladan, face contorted in fiery indignation, poked a small finger at Little Erestor as he yelled, “At least I do not smell like a balrog! I hate sparring with you because you stink! Each time you raise your arms I smell rotten eggs!”
Little Erestor screamed out a sound, so wicked in pitch that Erestor knew even Morgoth would have cringed at the intonation. Then he launched himself straight into Elladan’s midsection. The momentum landed them hard on the earth. Small fists flew, legs kicked, and colorfully descriptive invectives filled the air as the two tussled on the dusty ground. Elrohir stood rooted to the spot his eyes wide as dinner plates. Glorfindel’s hand twitched towards his sword before he reached down grabbed both elflings by the scruff of their tunics and hauled them upward.
Full of sighs these days, Erestor let another fill the air as he turned from the window and sat back down at his desk. There was work to be done yet his mind was still on his elfling. He was continually at a loss on how to deal with these outbursts or Little Erestor’s filthiness. No matter what tactic attempted he fought being washed. The fear was complete, irrational and unrelenting. Erestor had tried coaxing with soothing words. He had tried bribes. He had tried treats, and he had even tried reasoning. Congratulating himself on the brilliant idea he had sent Little Erestor to gather three plants of equal size and kind from the hot house. Together they oversaw a small exercise; not watering one plant, over watering another, and only moistening the soil of one. Little Erestor was convinced that both plants receiving any water would die. When the outcome showed that the only surviving plant was the one moderately watered, he had accused Erestor of switching the plants when he was not looking. All avenues explored, there was nothing more he could do and feared harming the elfling if he forced a bath. Even more appalling were the unsolicited suggestions he received. One outrageous written proposal, covertly slipped under his door, directed him to drug Little Erestor with a mild sedative so he could be washed. His horror over the recommendation had changed to curiosity as time passed, however. And now so desperate was the situation that he seriously considered speaking to Lord Elrond for a dram.
He had not time to pick up his quill before the wail of screaming, faint at first, but growing ever stronger and clearer heralded the end of his workday. Quickly, the cacophony arrived at his threshold when an obviously furious Glorfindel, flung the door wide, ripping the sturdy door off one hinge. He stomped into the office holding the source of the ear splitting screams, Little Erestor. Striding to the desk, he bent down next to Erestor nose to nose.
“Erestor! Get up, now! Move!” Then he pivoted on his heels and stalked out of the office.
Momentarily stunned, Erestor shot out of his chair and darted after Glorfindel, who was already bounding up the stairs shouting orders to every elf he saw.
Left well behind by Glorfindel’s anger-fueled strides, Erestor followed their echoed shouts to his rooms and into the bathing chamber. By the time he arrived, Little Erestor stood naked in the bathing pool with both arms stretched high above and held firmly by Glorfindel. A steady stream of elves arrived with pails and kettles and pans of water and Little Erestor screeched louder as each bucketful was dumped into the pool.
Glorfindel’s enraged expression greeted him upon entry though he spoke to Little Erestor.
“You will be washed so there is no need to continue this racket!”
“No. No water! I hate water. You are trying to kill me!” The child’s voice was ragged with stress and he fought to free his hands from the iron grip.
Erestor quickly disrobed and entered the bathing pool. Intent on soothing, he was unprepared for the small foot that lashed out striking him fully in the chest. With a whoosh of escaping breath he fell back.
Quickly Glorfindel loosened his hold causing Little Erestor to sink further into the water. The little foot was hurriedly placed back on the bottom of the pool as he desperately rose from the water.
As the steady input of water raised the level to mid-thigh, Glorfindel ordered a stop, sent one elf off to burn all Little Erestor’s bedding and clothing and the others back to their duties.
Erestor, rubbing his chest, moved closer for another try with Little Erestor, but the elfling was beyond coaxing. His cried hysterically and twisted in Glorfindel’s grip not daring to lift either foot from the bottom of the pool but still anxious to escape.
“Erestor, quickly now. Grab soap, a cloth, and swiftly clean him. There will be no comfort for him until we release him from this bath.”
He nodded his agreement and reached for the nearest bottle and flannel. Cautiously he moved in and quickly soaped Little Erestor from face to foot. He felt ridiculous and inadequate as he mimicked all the appeasing noises his naneth once made for him when he was young and upset. Little Erestor heard him not but continued his fear-laden cries for he truly believed he was being harmed. Erestor knew he had put off this confrontation for too long. He must find a way to convince the elfling that water, if respected, was nothing to fear.
Quickly he washed off the soap, Little Erestor screamed each time Erestor sluiced water on his body.
“His hair, Glorfindel! We cannot clean it while he is standing. I fear if water is poured down his face we will lose him from fright.”
Wordlessly Glorfindel agreed and lifted Little Erestor up by his hands and out of the bathing pool. Swiftly, and before the elfling had time to react, he grabbed him around the arms and tilted his head over the edge of the pool. Little Erestor’s cries were now little more than pitiful, hoarse moans.
Erestor squeaked his own dismay when he saw minute many-legged creatures struggling in the grimy brine. They had come from Little Erestor’s hair, which now floated in the water. Hundreds more filled the pool and he berated himself again for letting Little Erestor fall into such a filthy state. While he hastily soaped and rinsed the locks a tiny droplet escaped into Little Erestor’s eye, and the elfling let out such a tortured howl stories from the dark days of the past played through Erestor’s mind.
Finally Little Erestor’s hair was clean and Glorfindel lifted him fully out of the water and held him tight. Erestor left the dirt-filled pool and rushed for a clean flannel casting fearful glances over to where Glorfindel held the shivering elfling. Little Erestor was silent now and though he had loudly voiced his fear his eyes were still dry.
Little Erestor had not held his feet long after being released from the bath and now lay limp and lifeless across Glorfindel’s lap. His eyes unfocused and glazed with sleep while both Erestor and Glorfindel vigorously toweled him dry. Laying him in the newly made bed, Erestor hovered above Little Erestor sweeping damp tendrils of hair from his face before tucking a blanket firmly around him.
A hand placed softly on his shoulder, squeezed its comfort, before a warm breath whispered words into his ear. “I suspect he will sleep through the night.”
“Aye, he is exhausted from fright.” Erestor quickly exited to the living area, away from the succor of Glorfindel’s concern, and proceeded to dress. “I must do something for him, but I have no answers. How is this possible? I am chief counselor to Lord Elrond and yet I am stumped by one small elfling. I am powerless to sway his mind or his actions!”
A quick look of disbelief crossed Glorfindel’s face. “Were you not a fledgling counselor? I was there and I witnessed your growth. You were also shy and timid, but as your knowledge increased and you acquired experience you became bold. And now…” Glorfindel grew more serious. “Your reputation is such that none dare oppose you.”
Erestor snorted at that and felt some of his tension ease away. “It is a pity that Little Erestor does not respect my reputation! Of course, neither do you, Glorfindel, for I recall many sessions where you purposefully goaded me into an outburst.”
“Not I! You have me confused with some other devastatingly gorgeous elf.”
“Smooth-tongued rogue.” Shot back Erestor, his own barely controlled hysteria caused his tongue to loosen and he remembered the taunting names Little Erestor and Elladan had shouted at each other as they fought.
“Firedrake droppings!”
Erestor’s eyebrows shot up at the insult. Obviously Glorfindel remembered the colorful sayings as well.
“Hairy spawn of Ungoliant!”
“Goblin snot!”
“Whore of Morgoth!”
“Berg of Helcaraxë!”
For one short moment they both paused. Erestor saw the same worried expression mirrored on Glorfindel’s face, for both had heard rumors of each that bore resemblance to the insults. And then a small smile appeared on Glorfindel’s face, Erestor mimicked the grin, which turned into laughs, and then they roared. Once their hysterical outburst concluded they stood gasping and clutching at each other in their struggle to stay upright. As they wiped their eyes of tears they both agreed that the elflings had stumbled onto a wonderfully cathartic release.
With a final look in at the peacefully sleeping elfling, Glorfindel dragged Erestor off for a much needed dinner.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Title: A Song in a Song
Author: Hare (harefic@yahoo.com)
Type: FCS
Characters: Lindir, Elladan, Elrohir, Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: PG-13 mainly, R rarely.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters found in this story nor was I creative enough to invent their world. I make no profit except in joy.
Timeline: Early Third Age
Warnings: Slash – some angst, some fluff, some romance. Not a songfic but a new genera Erfan and I call bum-fluff wherein a character lusts for another’s bum but the reader gets only fluff.
Beta: Weeping Naiad – a friend AND a scholar. Thank you, my dear.
Entry: 2008 Glorestor Challenge
Dedicated: To Patricia “slayer9649”, rescuer of orphans.
Author’s Note: A huge thank you to the “Tale Spinners”, Ezimachia and Svengalliedhare, for unwavering support and advice. Svengalliedhare, with whom I proudly share 25% of my genes, wrote all the songs in this story with edits by me. ***Except for the first and last sections this entire story is from Erestor’s POV.
I took the names of the four bards directly from our history.