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Title: Yours For A Song 2/9
Author: Hare (harefic@yahoo.com)
Fandom: LOTR
Type: FCS
Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Can I choose to proclaim, rather than disclaim? Hear ye, Hear ye--they are not mine!
Timeline: Present day is Imladris Third Age, years 1973-1975. All flashbacks are in Gondolin First Age, years 505-510.
Warning: AU, angst, sex, h/c, romance, sap and cookies…though not necessarily in that order.
Beta: Chaotic_Binky and Erviniae…simply the best.
Dedication: To Chaotic_Binky, Erviniae, and Weepingnaiad…my own archipelago of lovelies (for no writer is an island) who keep my tiny pond of our fandom silly, fun, and refreshingly kinky.
Author's Note: Hello, my name is Hare and I am a hopeless romantic. Seriously, I have exploded the sap-o-meter on this one! You are thusly warned, and I am resolved of any consequences should you choose to read. I am grateful to whoever put together the Elf Fetish website and name generator. Special thanks to Svengalliedhare, my niece and poetess extraordinaire for the songs and poem found within but the eagles and swans are all mine! Though I didn’t plan it this story is connected in a vaguely cosmic parallel universe way to several of my other Erestor/Glorfindel tales. Caveat lector!
Summary: What happens when Erestor discovers his well ordered, fully planned life is nothing of the sort?

Chapter 2
Imladris, III 1973

After retrieving Lord Elrond’s personal seal Erestor reversed this morning’s trek and raced for his rooms now hours delayed from starting the workday and he had not even broken his fast yet. Erestor hated missing a meal, any meal, still that all had to wait until he changed from the grimy wet garments and sopping wet slippers.

He charged into his quarters, ripping his clothes off as he approached the wardrobe. Fully nude and engrossed in searching for clean replacements, he jumped, startled, when something crashed to the floor near him.

Turning, he beheld Gwennuial and immediately questioned her.

“I cannot find my over robes and where are my breeches?” He stopped, put his hands on his hips, and waited. But her mouth kept opening and closing in a perfect imitation of the thousands of dying fish he had seen brought on board his ada’s ships. Her eyes never left the floor.

Exasperated, he snapped his fingers and crouched down so he could catch her gaze. “Gwennuial! Where is my clothing!!?”

A brief choked sound left her mouth, and she averted her eyes once more but his shout seemed to rouse her and she hesitantly scooted around him toward the reading room.

Quickly she returned with trousers and a robe. She cleared her throat and this time she seemed to focus on the ceiling.

“I…I am…am sorry, Chief Counselor but all your clothing was in dire need…aye, need of washing and I picked today to do so. Mmmmm, I…well, your small library receives the most light from Anor at this time of day and, well….well, everything is still damp but clean.”

She shoved the clothing into his arms, grabbed the bucket she had dropped, and ran for the bathing room. Erestor looked down at his naked body and burst into laughter the moment she left his sight. In his haste, he had completely forgotten that poor Gwennuial hailed from Nargothrond, a land steeped in secrecy and absolutely conservative in ways of the flesh. Even though she had not dwelled there since its sack, she had never shaken free from her upbringing. Backwards, was how Erestor thought of her, yet Gwennuial seemed happy enough.

One irritated *tsk* followed another as he struggled to don the partially wet garments. They clung to him, and bunched around his joints, making the task almost impossible. Time marched forward as he fought his leggings, aggravating him further. When he finally stood fully dressed he squirmed and shook his limbs, completely uncomfortable, and wondered at the first elf who thought coverings necessary. He would gladly kinslay that elf should he ever meet him or her.

Not leaving anything to chance, Erestor opted for boots instead of his second pair of comfortable slippers. Swiftly he checked his hair in the looking glass, the love knot still held. A quick glance to his finger reassured him that the ring still resided in its proper place. Tempted to sneak another peak at his lute, he grabbed Elrond’s seal instead and exited his quarters. He strode down the hallways at the pace of a slow run and experienced the entire morning routine again. Erestor waved and smiled and greeted all who called out to him.

A shout roused him from his contentment; mildly exasperated at being so close to his office yet facing another interruption, he turned to see Habadond approaching.

“Chief Counselor! A moment please!”

“As you wish, Habadond.”

Erestor awaited him with an open pleasing smile that masked his clenched teeth. At least once each week Habadond pleaded for an audience with Lord Elrond, and then he would spend precious moments of Erestor’s time recounting some foolish dispute or complaint. Yet, never once did Habadond appear at his appointed time with Lord Elrond. The one instance Erestor had complained about this he had been reprimanded by his lord. Elrond had reminded him that Habadond was lonely, and in an ill mental state due to battle stress, and just needed someone to whom he could vent his anger. Elrond had further stated that he, Erestor, should feel complimented that Habadond felt safe and secure enough to continually seek out his counsel.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Erestor linked his arm through Habadond’s and pulled him close.

“Walk with me, Habadond and speak your confidence. I am sure we can catch Lord Elrond during his mid-morning break. Surely he will desire nothing more than to hear what troubles you this day.”

Habadond stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh!” He stuttered and tried to reclaim his arm from Erestor’s grip, but Erestor held firm. “Nay, I have not the time this morning, Chief Counselor.”

He could hear the gears turning in Habadond’s mind as he searched for some escape.

Erestor dragged him forward as he continued towards his work area, that unworthy part of himself vindictively irritated enough by today’s events that he thoroughly enjoyed toying with poor Habadond.

“I am sure, Lord Elrond’s full energies must be focused on the evil that occupies Fornost”, Habadond babbled. “Surely he has no time for --.”

“Oh, nay! When you approached me last, and I spoke to our Lord he insisted that when next you beseech me with some grave situation he should be informed immediately!”

Habadond jerked from Erestor’s embrace abruptly and stumbled back a few steps.

“You cannot make me go!” he hissed. His face contorted into a mask of gnashing fury, yet confused terror shone from his eyes.

Erestor held up both hands in a placating gesture. Somehow their conversation had changed dramatically.

An accusing finger accosted him, and Habadond snapped. “I will NEVER fight again! Never! Lord Elrond promised I would be safe here.” His eyes rolled and rounded wide open in terror.

“Habadond,” Erestor spoke softly and calmly. “You are safe here. Look at me, friend.”

Wild eyes desperately trained on his. Erestor smiled serenely and took a step toward him.

“No harm comes to us. You are free and safe forevermore. Lord Elrond never retracts a promise. Never.” His words were spoken true, for Imladris was well hidden and none were forced into soldiering here.

In a flash, Habadond ran to him and clung to him fiercely, sobbing freely and blubbered, “He promised. Never. No more battles. No more.” The words repeated over and over through gulping whimpers.

“Aye, Habadond. Never.” Erestor, repeated back to him, and caressed his back in soothing gestures. When an elf finally passed by he silently mouthed his request for assistance. The healers arrived shortly after and escorted the now compliant Habadond away.

He rubbed his hands up and down his arms to remove the chill that ached down to his bones. Erestor had seen his fair share of elves damaged not only physically, by the never ending battles, but mentally as well. Imladris was a haven to those seeking refuge from the evil that plagued Middle Earth, especially those scarred and unable to face the horrible consequences of battle, those who, for whatever reason, could not or would not travel to Valinor for complete healing. He shivered and plucked at his over robe now soaked again by Habadond’s tears, but he shook his head firmly, not allowing himself to think on it further, for all had at one time been greatly affected by loss and found their own ways to handle the outcomes.

Erestor scribbled a hasty note and tracked down an elf to deliver it to Habadond’s daughter, for his wife had perished in some unknown conflict. He knew it was for his daughter that Habadond stayed in Middle Earth and delayed his journey to Valinor.

His step slower, Erestor finally slipped into his office and with a loud sigh fell into the chair. But the sounds of its squeaks were an obvious beacon to his assistant who came immediately upon the first squeal.

“Chief Counselor, a happy morn to you,” greeted a frighteningly cheerful Counselor Berengardh.

“And to you, Counselor.” Erestor automatically responded, and then a yawn caught him. He rubbed gritty eyes and felt as if an entire day had already passed.

Berengardh chuckled, “Mayhap you need further sleep from last night’s activities.”

He glared at her. “You know well I left early. Nay, let us leave this topic with minimal discussion. The entire morning has been trying.”

She nodded her head. “Aye, as will most of our days for the next few weeks. The absence of the ladies Celebrían, Arwen, and Aevar is already felt.” Berengardh plunked down a thick stack of papers on the desk.

Erestor sighed in exasperation. “You jest?”

Berengardh smiled tightly and spread her arms outward in a wide shrug.

“How is this possible?” he continued. “A mere two days ago our outstanding issues were contained on two pages.”

The counselor reached for the top sheet and began reciting.

“As our responsibilities now include all household issues as well as monitoring the plans for the festival of the newest year, Mereth Tui, our list has grown exponentially.

“Early this morning, I encountered a very unhappy counselor from Lindon growling for fresh bread; and if you will note there are no mouthwatering aromas wafting through the Last Homely House today…”

He sniffed and realized she was correct; no smells of baking inhabited the air. Erestor worried his lower lip. This was unusual for him; he always noticed when something out of the ordinary occurred here, for his happiness depended upon a continued routine existence.

Berengardh continued uninterrupted by Erestor’s thoughts, “…And there should be for it is mid-week and baking is done on this day, but every bag of flour is infested with the saw-toothed beetle. We have nothing with which to bake. Several containers of sugar, cereal, and dried fruit have also been affected. Currently Cook has a small horde of kitchen workers inspecting every bag and tin of stored food stuffs and the rest are already in the process of cleansing the entire kitchen, store rooms, and utensils. In other words, we have the makings of a small disaster on our hands.”

Erestor pushed himself out of the chair and stretched the kink out of his back. Then he started pacing slowly, hand on his chin while one finger tapped his cheek.

“Hmmm, were the containers compromised?”

“It does not appear so. None thus far have revealed tears nor are any unsealed.”

“Were the grains moved from the cold storage area?”

“Aye, what with the influx of so many from the other realms and the solstice celebration, Cook needed --.”

He waved off her explanation. “Make sure it is all moved back outside. That is the only quick and sure way to kill the pests, though it will still take four days. Send out an urgent message to Lady Celebrían. I fear she will have to add this to her already lengthy list of issues to discuss with the growers; we need those replacement supplies as soon as possible. Make it clear that we will support her in any way necessary should they attempt any gouging increase in prices.”

“That will take at least two weeks.”

“Aye, and until the new grain arrives, Cook can employ her staff to pick out the dead beetles once they have been frozen.” Erestor smirked. “Although I recommend leaving some in deference to the Mirkwood contingency, remind them of home with the familiar crunch of dead insects.”

Berengardh chuckled while scribbling notes.

“Oh! Also tell Cook that I require a complete investigation of this incident and a report on her findings. If necessary we can lend an assistant counselor to her for this. Next!” Erestor cried.

“We received a missive late this morning from Storyteller Maelam. She has rejected our contract for performing at Mereth Tui.”

“That ungrateful --.”

“Chief Counselor,” Berengardh warned.

“Fine, fine. What part did she reject? Our generous compensation? Our outstanding offer of fine accommodations including her outrageous demands for a chilled glass of sealgrass wine at her bedside each night and a warm salt gargle every morning upon waking? Nay? Let me guess. She demands a different hot willing body every day?”

“Chief Counselor!” Berengardh looked at him with such astonishment that Erestor could not help but laugh.

“It is none of those, my goodness Pengolodh did warn me about you but rarely have I seen you quite like this.” Berengardh eyed him suspiciously before continuing. “The Storyteller is concerned by the battles in Fornost and has included an increased allowance for protection on her trip here and the return journey to her home. There is nothing more than that one request, and I recommend we allow this. It is a reasonable concern.”

“Agreed. Amend the contract, and I will approve with Lord Elrond’s seal. But it must be done soon for Mereth Tui comes upon us quickly.”

Berengardh wrote furiously before moving to the next topic.

“We have complaints from several room attendants regarding Chief Counselor Galion. He drinks nightly, cavorts with the Mirkwood Captain, and apparently he dribbles.”

“Dribbles?” Erestor questioned, a wide grin split his face.

Berengardh stammered and her face lit a deep red. “Well, ah…aye. They complain of being kept awake by his antics and having to change the sheets daily. Apparently he is extremely unruly when awoken too early. Furthermore, he and the captain have attempted outright enticement with several ellon.”

Erestor bit back a laugh. The elves of Imladris were so sheltered here in this haven run by Lord Elrond. Its peaceful ways, its giving gracious lord, lulled them into their uninterrupted tranquil lives. He thought it good they experienced this influx of elves from other lands.

“Has anyone been hurt or forced? Has anything been permanently damaged?”

“Nay!” She seemed shocked by the mere suggestion and Erestor made a mental note that his counselor required more exposure to the other elvish realms before receiving any further promotions.

“Excellent. I shall speak with Galion and his captain. The matter will resolve itself. As for placating the staff, that is your task, Counselor.”

Berengardh did not seem pleased by his response but, he observed, she notated his command dutifully.

Erestor’s stomach took that moment to grumble, loudly, and Berengardh’s giggle was interrupted by a polite knock to the door.

“Enter!” he shouted.

Melpomaen and Faelon walked in followed by Mistresses Restilhul and Calenamon. Both elflings now appeared and smelled clean, were fully dressed, not a hair out of place, and stood quietly contrite with their heads down.

The counselors both rose and bowed before Erestor spoke. “My Lords, Ladies welcome. Am I to assume all is well, my Lords?”

“Aye,” they chimed together, sounding completely wretched. Erestor ignored Berengardh’s questioning stare when he turned to dismiss her.

“Are we finished, Counselor?”

“For now. There are no desperate issues that cannot wait until the morrow.”

As she gathered up her notes and other papers, Erestor reassured her that they would speak later.

When Berengardh left, he brought his chair to the center of the room and sat facing the young lords.

“Lord Melpomaen. You first, step forward and remove your footwear.”

Without hesitation he did, and Erestor inspected him – fingernails, hair, face, ears, neck, feet, and then shoes and clothing for any debris.

“Step back and now you, Lord Faelon.” Again perfect cooperation from the elfling and he commenced a second inspection.

He then turned his attention to their minders.

“My ladies, what have you to report?”

Restilhul answered, “Our Lords have willingly cleaned their rooms with no fuss, and washed and dressed themselves without assistance. Mistress Calenamon and I agree that all is ready for your review.”

Erestor stood and appraised the young lords, his *tsk* startled a jump from both yet they refused to lift their heads.

“I am unhappy with your stances, my Lords. Not once have you gazed upon me. Lift your eyes immediately!”

Two miserable, tear-stained faces snapped to attention and grimly beheld him. Erestor’s tough mask threatened to crack at such a sight. These two were frequently too serious in demeanor, such a contrast from their father and his twin, but so like Lord Elrond.

“Much better.” He allowed a small smile to play across his face and delighted in how such a minute gift straightaway brightened their countenances.

“Lead us on, my Lords. To your quarters.”

With military precision, the twins marched directly to their rooms, yet once inside stood unsure, fidgeting nervously and looked to Erestor who canted his head towards the ladies. Quickly the elflings moved to their minders, escorted them to a comfortable divan and inquired if they desired some water to drink.

Once the ladies were seated, Erestor began his perusal of the sitting room, amazed that the walls seem to bear no stains. The statutes and statuettes had been uprighted to their original positions and the potted plants all seemed to be once more potted. Erestor bent down and felt the rug, still damp but no longer soaked through and no dirt. All traces of the neem oil blown away by the now opened windows. He walked over to close them and spotted some debris which Melpomaen cleared away immediately upon his order. He then set them both to work lighting a fire in the hearth while he continued his way through the bathing chamber and their sleeping room.

Extraordinarily impressed, he returned to the now partially warmed sitting room with a broad smile upon his lips.

“I am pleased thus far, my Lords. You have kept several of the promises made this morning.”

The twins dared to return his smile, hope burgeoning in their eyes.

“Now I do believe you have prepared apologies for Mistresses Restilhul and Calenamon. Faelon you shall begin and Melpomaen you shall follow.”

Faelon turned toward them and cast his head downward, then looked sharply at Erestor when he voiced his disapproval by clearing his throat. Head held high, he faced the ladies once more and his strong, sweet voice filled the room.

“My Ladies, I love you almost as much as I love my nana and my grandnanas and my great-grandnanas and my Aunt Arwen. That’s how much I love you, and I’m sorry, very, very sorry that I was bad. I try not to be but sometimes this little orc tells me I should be mean, and then I’m mean, and then I’m sorry,” Faelon rambled on without catching a breath.

“And then this morning, when I woke up and Nana was gone I got this ache in my belly and it hurt so bad I didn’t know what to do, so I thought if I got mean the ache would go away but then I got mean with you. Then my belly hurt AND it hurt right here, too.” Faelon pointed to his chest. “Because now you hurt because of me. I promise I will be good from now on, and I hope you still love me because I don’t like this hurt in my heart.”

Faelon reluctantly stepped backwards and Melpomaen moved forward for his turn.

“Mistress Calenamon, some day I will marry you; that’s how much I love you. We will have lots of babies who will not be mean. They will be nice and beautiful just like you, and I will scold them if they are ever mean like me because being mean is not nice, and I’m a lord and I must set a good standard. That’s what Ada always says, and this morning was not a good standard. But you’ll see. I can be good, and I will be good from now on. I promise.”

He continued. “Mistress Restilhul, I know I can’t marry you too. Can I? I don’t know, I don’t think so but I still want to ask my ada if that’s possible because I love you. You know how to swim and paint and tell the best stories. I could listen to you forever. Except I’m mean now, but I won’t be forever. I’ll be good and make you proud.”

Melpomaen gasped loudly, near tears. “Please don’t hate me! I promise I won’t be mean anymore.”

And then Erestor lost complete control over the situation as the ladies rushed forward and gathered the twins into their embraces, sobbed and hugged and kissed and assured them that all was forgiven and they were still very much loved.

Unsure whether to laugh or cry, Erestor called for their attention and separated them.

“It is clear that your ladies approve. I do also. Very well done, my Lords. A more heartfelt and sincere apology surely has never existed before this moment. Now, let us go see if we can rid Lord Faelon of that ache in his belly.”

A much happier group descended the stairs and together they relieved the kitchen of a platter filled with meat, a hunk of cheese, and several apples. They retired to the ready room next to Lord Elrond’s office, for Erestor knew the lords would adjourn here during the mid-afternoon break.

Blessed peace finally descended as the twins and the ladies broke their long fast. Erestor himself was famished and took his fair share of the food. Once the desperation of hunger ceased, and they sat munching on apples he noticed Melpomaen had him under close scrutiny.

“Erestor?” Melpomaen broke the silence.

“Mmm?”

“Are you married?”

A piece of apple lodged itself in Erestor’s throat and he sat up choking and coughing. Calenamon pounded him on the back.

“What?” Erestor finally gasped.

Melpomaen reached forward and touched his hair. “You have this thing here and you have a ring on your finger. Ada and Grandada have the same things and they are married.”

He had wondered when this question would arise. Elladan and Elrohir were just short of their majority when they accosted Erestor and demanded to know why he wore a love knot in his hair and a ring on his marriage finger. Elladan’s twins were more inquisitive and curious, so he had expected this, but not quite so soon and not in the presence of others.

Of course there were survivors here from Gondolin, so his story was not unknown, but the attentive stares of the ladies made him a trifle nervous. He cleared his throat.

“Well, nay I am not married but there is someone very special whom I love. This love knot and this ring are tokens of a promise to uphold our future bonding.”

Faelon piped into the conversation. “But we have never seen you with her.”

“You would not have, for he does not live here in Imladris.”

Melpomaen and Faelon giggled. “Warriors!” they cried in unison.

“What?” Now it was Erestor’s turn to be confused.

“You love a warrior, just like Uncle Elrohir. He gets very happy when that elf with the yellow hair comes to visit. I can’t remember his name though.”

“Where does your warrior live, Erestor?”

“In Valinor, and there he awaits my arrival.”

Melpomaen’s eyes rounded. “Oh no, did he die?”

“Aye, in a great battle, long ago.”

Erestor swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. He did not enjoy speaking of this to anyone.

“So the Valar will let him be reborn, and when you get there you can marry him and have lots of babies.”

“Babies?”

“Uh huh, that’s what happens when you get married, you have babies. Nana told us all about it.”

He ignored the muffled giggles from the ladies while his mind searched for some explanation.

“I do hope to marry him, aye, but we are two ellon so there will be no babies.”

“Sure there will be. We saw Uncle Elrohir and that elf trying to make babies and they do it just like Ada and Nana, but for some reason Uncle Elrohir didn’t have a baby yet, probably because he hasn’t married that warrior elf yet. And we’ve seen the goats and horses and birds do it just the same and they have babies.”

Now the ladies were outright choking trying to hold back the laughter. But the elflings seemed not to notice and continued with their questioning.

“What is his name?” Faelon asked just as the door opened and Melpomaen shouted.

“Grandada!!”

The twins ran to Elrond and embraced his legs; he reached down for a kiss from both. Then they saw their ada and retreated behind Elrond.

“What is this?” asked Elladan, “No enthusiastic greeting for your own ada?” His broad smile slowly faded to a frown.

Melpomaen and Faelon glanced at Erestor who nodded and gestured them to keep their heads up and move towards their ada.

“We were bad and mean, Ada,” Faelon confessed.

“But we are better now and promise to be nice to everyone especially the ladies,” chimed in Melpomaen.

Faelon continued, “We even cleaned up all the mess and washed ourselves and Erestor approved of it all, even our apologies.”

Elladan put up a hand for them to stop and looked to Erestor.

“Your sons have spoken truly, my Lord. Their misbehavior has been discussed, they have made certain promises, and have thus far amended the situation with great satisfaction to both myself and Mistresses Restilhul and Calenamon.” The ladies nodded their heads.

Elladan glared disappointment at the twins before speaking. “If you will excuse me, Adar, I would retire with my sons to their quarters for a further explanation. How soon before we reconvene?”

“Take as much time as you need as I am sure we will make no further headway today.”

Somberly, Lord Elladan escorted the ladies and the twins, who now clung to each other, from the room.

Erestor and Elrond sighed together and then chuckled.

“Your day has been as trying as mine?” inquired Elrond.

“Aye. How goes the counsel?”

“It is as we expected. Mithlond, Lindon and Lothlórien have the available resources and the willingness to not only commit troops to a campaign in Fornost but to share responsibility in patrolling the roads between realms.

“While the counselors and captain from Mirkwood agree to everything in spirit they are hesitant to allocate any of their warriors for either. It is understandable considering the numbers needed just to maintain a secure border against the evil occupying Dol Guldur.”

Elrond stood and paced.

“We need them, Erestor. Without all of us participating and providing equal protection this entire alliance will fail and these months in negotiations will have been for naught.”

Erestor leaned forward in his chair. “Tonight I speak to Galion on a completely unrelated issue. Let me broach this subject with him, my Lord. Let me initiate the plan we spoke upon before these proceedings commenced.”

“Not yet, my friend,” Elrond chuckled, “We are not so desperate that we need resort to our final impetuous plea.”

“Desperate!” Erestor snorted. “Never that, but the chief counselor and I have a history, as you well know, and with one little word he will bow to whatever reasonable demand we lay before him. Either that or we can present an outright bribe. Our cellar is stocked with enough wine to keep him in his cups every night for a year, and the latest batch of scented oils has proven an especially pleasing lubricant, which the Mirkwood captain would much appreciate.”

Elrond howled his humor at that and Erestor beamed. Every day he sought to wring at least one smile or laugh from his lord. It was his duty as chief counselor. It was his duty as a good friend.

Wiping his eyes upon his sleeve, Elrond shook his head. “It is good that you are not part of these meetings. Not as fun or productive, mind you, but my sons learn much.

“How goes Imladris? I see the House still stands yet what of the rest?”

“Minor catastrophes, much gnashing of the teeth, flaring tempers, and general chaos. A typical day,” Erestor replied.

“Ah, wonderful. I look forward to my return to the simpler dealings of our realm.”

“However, I did have one moment of panic when we received word that Storyteller Maelam refused our contract.”

“Nay! Celebrían will be devastated.”

“Not to worry, my Lord. She merely demanded an increase in payment to cover the extra costs of traveling due to the instability in Fornost.”

“Good, good. One moment, there is something I meant to tell you.” Elrond continued to walk around the room, his face a mask of concentration. He stopped abruptly.

“Aha! Mereth Tui. I know of a perfect new talent. A young elf named Lindir. I believe he and his ada have been residents for a short time, but already there is much talk of his outstanding voice and clever lyrics.”

“Where can I find this singer?”

“Hmm, that I do not know but his adar is a Horsemaster in my stables. I cannot recall his name but he will be immediately recognizable for the cowl he hides under.”

“One of the battle-scarred?”

“Again, I do not know as his face has never been visible to me; however, his right hand is completely damaged, probably due to fire from the looks of it.”

“I shall make it a priority to find this Lindir and secure him for a spot in one of the festival performances.”

They parted ways shortly thereafter to continue their day. Erestor returned to his office and spent an exhausting afternoon and evening attempting to conclude as many outstanding issues as possible before retiring.

When Ithil shone brightly and Erestor still sat hunched over a pile of paper, he heard the squeals and screams of elflings outside his glass doors, doors that led to the front lawn of the House. He stood, stretched out tired muscles, rubbed the ache in his back, opened the doors and emerged to the snow blanketed night. Grateful he had opted for boots this morning, he strode outside.

Melpomaen and Faelon, though barely recognizable through multiple layers of clothing stumbled around dodging snow thrown by their ada and uncle Elrohir. It appeared any rifts between father and sons were mended. He smiled.

His musings were abruptly cut short by a stinging pain on the right side of his face.

“Ouch!” he yelled.

The same stinging pain then emerged on the left side of his face.

“What in the name of the Valar!” Erestor roared while he wiped the snow from his eyes, only vaguely aware of the laughter ringing through the air.

And then Haldir appeared directly in front of him. His face set into a firm smirk.

“There. I always thought your face could do with a bit more color and now you have it. Two perfectly rounded patches of rouge.”

“Marchwarden,” Erestor growled before a startled “Umph!” was forced from him as he impacted the ground.

Struggling for breath he looked upward to find two identical faces peering down upon him. The twins sat upon his chest.

“Uncle Haldir just taught us distract and de-thatch.”

A distant voice cut in. “Distract and dispatch.”

“Oh!” The twins giggled.

“So Uncle Haldir distracted you and we dispatched you!”

“And you did a fine job now let me up.”

“But you’re dead.”

“How can I be dead if I am speaking to you?”

“Oh, Uncle Haldir. What happens if they aren’t dead?”

Strong hands lifted the twins up by the scruff of their clothing and then pulled Erestor from the ground. Those same hands vigorously slapped snow from his over robe.

After removing his robe, and shaking it free of snow and combing his fingers through his hair, Erestor finally looked up. Three adult elves and two elflings contemplated him.

“Hmmmm,” Elrohir said. “Usually we kill orcs and goblins outright, though sometimes we must extract information from them, and occasionally we pin a note to them and send them back to their evil masters with a warning.”

“What say ye, young Lords?”

“Torture him!” they shouted gleefully and Haldir chuckled. Erestor thought the Marchwarden looked especially proud with that answer. Only barely was he unable to keep the irritated *tsk* from forming on his lips, for he had work to complete. However he knew better, Elladan and Elrohir had tormented him since their birth with harmless pranks and general mischief. He could only escape by playing their game.

Dramatically he fell to his knees before Melpomaen and Faelon.

“Please brave Lords, release me. Send me back to my evil lord with a message. For I have his ear, and I can convince him of your superior might and intelligence and he will forever leave you and your people in peace.”

The young twins looked at each other and seemed to think about his plea for a moment and then their lips rose into full grins. “Torture!” they agreed before charging Erestor, wrestling him to the ground and tickling him.

Erestor gasped out names and dates and secret locations of warriors and weapons until the young twins were congratulated on their technique and then sent off by their ada to quickly create a cover before the next round of fighting began.

While cleaning himself of snow again Elladan invited him for chocolate in about an hour before setting off after his sons.

“How is your back, Erestor?” Elrohir looked at him with genuine concern but did not wait his answer before continuing. “When you come for chocolate, I will have an elixir for you. Do not be late!”

As he walked off, Haldir approached him closely, “Yes, Chief Counselor do join us.” Then he leaned in closely and blew hot air against the cold shell of Erestor’s ear. “And if light-colored hair is your only requirement for a lover, there is an empty space in my bed for the evening. Shall I keep it warm?”

Haldir, obviously not expecting a response, laughed and raked his eyes over the length of Erestor before departing with a leer firmly upon his face.

Erestor shook his head as he left. Amazed at the gall of Haldir, and amazed that in a few short hours the twins had completely lost their fear of the Marchwarden.

The search took him from Lord Elrond’s stables to a tiny house nestled within a copse of holm-oak trees. On one side, an old garden had been scratched in the earth, now dead and partially covered with snow. On the other, boxwoods guarded the foundation. Just one of the many typical homes that dotted the land of Imladris.

His knock on the door was answered promptly. The elf, almost as tall as Erestor was covered in a black robe and his face hidden in the shadows of a deep cowl. It always shocked Erestor to meet an elf as tall as he, for his family was known for its extraordinary height. He noticed the disfigured hand before the elf quickly slipped it under the sleeve of his robe. The skin melted such that each finger was fused together and a dulled and badly damaged golden ring still resided on the index finger.

Erestor smiled to put this unknown elf at ease, for his stance was rigid and hard with a slight tremor. He stood defensively in the doorway, neither stepping out further nor inviting Erestor in.

“A good evening. I am Chief Counselor, Erestor. Are you the adar of Lindir?”

“I am,” came the quick response, the elf’s voice strong, yet raspy.

“Excellent, I will come straight to the order of my business. Lord Elrond offers your son the opportunity to perform at Mereth Tui. It is our Imladris version of the equinox and newest year celebration, there is much fun, and the occasional prayer for a good harvest in the fields and in the bedroom.”

Silence greeted him, not even a change in stance to show the elf appreciated his attempt at humor. About to speak again, the elf interrupted him.

“My son is recently of majority age, Chief Counselor. I suggest you speak with him directly about this issue. He spends most days and many nights with the bard, Adanglir. A good night to you.”

Erestor, for reasons he could not begin to fathom put his foot in the door to prevent its closing.

“Please one moment. There is no need for the cover, friend. Imladris is a welcoming place and all are admitted as they are. I am sure you have seen the many elves here who are battle scarred or disfigured from accidents. There is no discrimination against them only loving acceptance.”

“Aye, which is one of the reasons I brought my son here. My thanks, Chief Counselor, but I am most comfortable under cover. Someday, mayhap, that will change.”

“As it pleases you, Sir.”

The door was abruptly closed, and Erestor hesitated. A nagging thought chased through his mind as he walked back to his quarters. This elf seemed so familiar and it had distracted him enough that he had failed to obtain his name. Yet…
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