Chapter Text
“Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.”
Neil Gaiman - The Kindly Ones
Erestor rose from his desk at the crack of thunder. He knew Glorfindel was out in the courtyard, putting a group of guards through their paces, for he had heard them as he sat working. From his window he saw exactly what he expected to see: the heavens opened, and the wind whipping the rain into blinding coldness. Neither Glorfindel nor the guards reacted, standing stalwart against the torrent. Erestor silently nodded his approval, for Imladris’ guards stood in all kinds of weather, under any condition. It was how he had been trained, and how he had once trained others.
“The first storm of this winter season will be a heavy one,” Elrond said, entering the office they shared and joining Erestor at the window. “Let us hope we are not in for another Fell Winter.” Elrond fell silent and watched Glorfindel and the guards move through attack formations, oblivious to the rain.
Erestor’s cat, Tinnu, jumped down from his Elf’s desk and joined his two friends at the window, squeezing between Erestor and Elrond to sit on the window sill. Small quivers could be detected in his sleek, black fur with each crack of thunder, followed by a tiny chirp of a meow.
After long minutes of the three quietly watching, Elrond asked, “How long will you continue to say nothing of your feelings to him?”
“Forever,” Erestor replied, reaching down to pick up Tinnu and place the cat on his shoulder.
“Why do you persist in denying yourself?”
“I have known great love and great loss in my long life,” Erestor said, “as you well know. I have chosen to protect what is left of my heart, as you also know. My hands and mind are kept occupied by overseeing the running of this house, along with our fields, herds and flocks. My heart is occupied by our library and books, and the training of our scribes. Those interests have filled my life quite satisfactorily in the past two millennia, and will continue to do so.”
Were Erestor to admit the truth, he was deeply drawn to Glorfindel. In his heart, he knew he loved the reborn Elf-Lord, and not with the love of a friend. Could he risk his heart again? No, for the pain would be unbearable if he did, and then suffered another loss.
“Gil-galad wanted you to take a mate again, you know.” Elrond whispered low enough so only Erestor would hear, should anyone be passing the room.
“Enough, child,” Erestor replied, even quieter, for he and Elrond were quite capable of looking from mind-to-mind without spoken word. He knew Elrond would understand by his use of the term he had called the half-Elf in his childhood. It meant he truly wished the discussion of Glorfindel ended. To soften his words, he added, “Glorfindel is as he was in younger days, full of life and the power of the Blessed Lands. Dear Elbereth, he stood before the Witch-king, who turned away at the sight, not a quarter century past. What purpose would he have with a crusty old, dyed-in-the-wool, head-in-a-book counselor as his mate? I can tell you exactly how many lambs and calves were birthed last season, but that is hardly entertaining information. Sometimes I fear I have lived too long in this land, but it is not up to us to number our days.”
“Why, Master Erestor,” Elrond chuckled. “It’s many years since you called me that. Not since our days in Lindon, when Gil-galad chose you to train me and Elros.” He sighed. “What days those were.”
Erestor remembered them well. The years of teaching the twins, and then the training with sword, bow and knives. Such happy days, now so long past. Five thousand years and more past. He wished he could have taught weaponry and fighting skills to Elrond’s twin sons, but that part of his life was gone now. It was better that Elrond and Glorfindel had trained them. Few here knew of his past life that had ended on the open plain of Dagorlad when Gil-galad had been taken from him. After that loss, he gave up armor and weapons, and returned to Imladris with Elrond to become his chief counselor.
Erestor finally spoke. “Elros. That was my first great loss, you know. When he chose the way of Men. Then Gil-galad. My heart grieves still for them. Sometimes it feels as if it were only yesterday.”
“As does mine,” Elrond replied. “But come, on to happier things. How are the plans for the Winter festival next week coming along?”
“Splendidly,” Erestor said, grateful for the change of topic. “Lindir is working with the musicians, the cooks are starting to prepare all the food, and the other servants are ironing the linens and shining the special tableware. After the more formal meal, we will have entertainment, music, singing and dancing. I believe the musicians even have new songs for us to enjoy this year. What flowers we had in our gardens will be trampled by this rain, so we will decorate the hall with pine boughs and holly. I am quite sure it will be as festive and joyful as always.”
“And will you dance this year, my friend?” Elrond asked with a smile.
“Don’t count on it, my Lord,” Erestor said.
& & &
It was perhaps an hour later when a very sodden Glorfindel entered the office, smiling in greeting at both of the Elves he considered his closest friends.
“Glorfindel, you are wet and dripping on the carpet,” Erestor said dryly. “Perhaps that chair without upholstery would be appropriate?” He pointed at a simple wooden chair that stood against the wall.
“It would indeed, if I were going to sit,” Glorfindel replied. “Instead, I am going to continue to drip on your carpet. I am going to hand you something that is also wet, so pray, remove any papers of value from your desk.”
Erestor quickly shuffled papers aside, and when he had done so, Glorfindel reached inside his tunic and removed a small, gray object. The furry object was wet, although Erestor could see an attempt had been made to dry it. The object moved and an ear was exposed. Erestor gasped in surprise and reached for the creature, cuddling it against his chest and rubbing the wet fur. “And where did you come from, little one,” he whispered. The kitten meowed.
Tinnu was on the desk in an instant, sniffing the creature and rumbling deep in his chest. Erestor reached out one hand to pet Tinnu and spoke softly to both of the animals. The kitten looked as if it was just three or four months old.
“Wherever did it come from?” Erestor asked, looking up at Glorfindel. “It’s not one of the stable cats, nor is it from any of the new litters in the valley that I know of.” Imladris kept many cats, many of them residing in the barns, granaries, store rooms, and kitchens, keeping the vermin population well under control.
“No one seems to know,” Glorfindel said. “We found him shivering under the bushes, trying to shelter from the rain. When we fed him, he ate as if he had not eaten for days, so it doesn’t appear he came from here. Perhaps he was abandoned nearby and found his way here?”
“He’s a pretty little thing,” Elrond said. “See the little white paws and chest? What do you intend to do with him, Glorfindel?”
“I thought Erestor might want him for a companion for Tinnu, so I came here first. If not, the kitchen staff will gladly take him and care for him, but it appears that Tinnu has already taken a liking to him.” Glorfindel reached out to run a hand over both of the cats, since Tinnu was now busily engaged in giving the kitten in Erestor’s arms a bath.
“Yes, it would seem so,” Erestor said, chuckling. “Tinnu has definitely claimed him, so apparently I have another cat. Well, now he needs a name.”
“Brethil,” Elrond offered up, and Erestor nodded.
Brethil: Silver birch tree