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“Shall we take a walk along the walls?”
“Right now?”
“Why not?”
Erestor froze in his steps, heart in his throat, listening to the two very familiar voices around the corner. The bundle of scrolls in his arms were heavy but there was no Power in Arda or Aman that could force him to take another step forward in that second.
The Fourth Age had come and with its arrival came the end of their kind's time on Arda's far shores. Erestor had almost stayed, to be with Arwen as she walked the path of her mortal life, to see her children grow, to be there when it was time for her to go where elven kind could not follow. He had almost stayed for the twins, dear Elrohir and Elladan, to watch over them until they too made their choice as to which path to take. But Elrond had had that Look on his face, when he saw Erestor fret over the children, when he saw Erestor hesitate. Elrond would have never asked Erestor to leave with him on the ships for Aman, so Erestor stayed by his side as Arda's distant shores vanished into a grey mist.
Aman was unlike anything Erestor had imagined. He had heard tales, they all had, of the glittering diamond dust pathways and the gems strewn upon the beaches of Alqualondë. Tales of Tirion's ivory walls and golden domes and airy bridges that linked walls to neighborhoods had taken Erestor's breath away. Elrond had been met at the pier in Alqualondë by kings of old, surrounded by such legends that Erestor had only heard of in song.
Erestor himself was pushed to the back and allowed no closer. Even when Celebrían ran into Elrond's arms, even when Dior himself came to welcome his grandson into Aman's embrace, Erestor was kept back, kept away from the only elf in Arda that he had ever seen as his brother.
The separation had hurt far more than he had expected.
Lindir, too, had little chance to push through the crowd to see Elrond be received with glory. They had stuck together, they two, as Glorfindel was swept forward as well, as his husband met him at the docks, as the lords of Gondolin welcomed Glorfindel back with glorious song.
Glorfindel had not looked Erestor's way. Not once.
Before, in Arda, Erestor had thought they were friends. Had thought that they were at least friendly. Glorfindel would come to his office to speak on matters that affected the household. They would speak in council, united always behind Elrond. It had even come to the point that there would always be a seat saved for him in the Hall of Fire, so that they might be at the same table, to speak softly as music played or to sit together with Elrond as songs were sung. Erestor had given him midwinter gifts – though he had never received any in turn – but what did that matter? They were not courting gifts, they were just...gifts of appreciation! He gave the same to Elrond! (Though Erestor did have to note that Glorfindel had been rather stiff until he realized that Elrond and the children had all gotten gifts from Erestor as well. Whatever had he been thinking?)
So it...hurt for Glorfindel to sweep past him without a glance. But, but , Erestor had to remind himself, Glorfindel had finally come home. Glorfindel's husband and family and history were all here. How could Erestor begrudge him that? So Erestor swallowed the flash of hurt, had picked up his own bags when the crowd of elves had surged forward, surrounding Elrond and Galadriel and Gandalf and the Ring Bearers, escorting them into the carriages that would take them to Tirion and beyond.
Leaving Erestor and Lindir on the docks, unsure where to go or what to do.
It had been a very long few days figuring all of that out.
Erestor had expected all elves to live in Tirion or Alqualondë or Valimar or Ilmarin. He – and Lindir – soon found that was not true. Little hamlets dotted Aman, tiny towns full of peaceful farmers and craftspeople of all kinds. Tirion, it seemed, like Alqualondë or Valimar or Ilmarin, were for the lords of their people, for the expansive manses, the glittering domes and delicate towers that rose up like flowers stretching towards the sun.
Erestor and Lindir had found a small inn of sorts, used by those who came to Tirion to deliver goods. Trade and commerce seemed to be as eternal as the elves. It had been a shock to learn that the currency they had carried from Arda – a curiosity surely – had become something quite precious to them both.
And then. And then. Erestor got the shock of his life.
Beyond Valinor's bright region, tucked up high in the Pelóri mountains, the Halls of the dwarven folk was located. South in Aman lay great cities of Men, built into foothills and mountains, like Númenor of old. And, in the West, where Bilbo and Frodo were quickly taken, were the Pastures of Yavanna, were the hobbit kind – among others – lived.
Erestor had been struck speechless at the news. No one in Arda had any idea. But also it filled him with joy, for he would see dear Arwen and Elladan and Elrohir once again.
That joy, while sweet, was short lived. Erestor and Lindir had gone into Tirion the next day, to find Elrond's manse and celebrate with him their return.
They were turned away at the city gates.
Neither Erestor or Lindir were on the approved list. To step foot into Tirion one had to be either a resident or worker within, or hold an invitation from the house they wished to visit. They had none of these qualifications, so they were denied entry. And to make matters worse, both Erestor and Lindir were Moriquendi. A sin they soon learned that was almost as bad as being a supporter of Morgoth in some circles. Erestor tried to argue with the guards. Lindir tried as well. The glowers they got in return had shook them both to the core. So back to the inn they went, with dwindling coin to pay for it, and tried to come up with another plan.
A courier's note to Elrond spent the last of their combined coin. They left the inn that night and camped in the green bowers that surrounded the south of the never-fading lawns of western Aman. They went each day to the inn to check for word from their friend and brother and lord. A week went by. Two. Three. Then they received a note, from someone claiming to be Elrond's butler, that all former servants of Lord Elrond were to expect nothing more from the busy lord and to be content with the knowledge that they had served under such an auspicious household.
Erestor was crushed. Lindir was crushed. Erestor was sure Elrond had no idea they had even sent a note in the first place. Surely their friend and lord was hurt by their sudden silence. Surely. But with no way into Tirion and no money to pay for more couriers they had no idea what to do. But, just as Erestor had done in the aftermath of the War of Wrath, he rolled up his sleeves and figured out their next steps, focusing just on the immediate future and nothing else. First, jobs. Lindir still had his lute and a fine enough singing voice that he was soon employed in that very same inn where they had spent their first few nights in Tirion. Erestor, however, had neither the sweet look of Lindir nor the ability to sing like a lark. So he put on his plainest robes and soon found work as a scribe in a warehouse of goods just outside of Tirion.
Second was a place to live. Small towns peppered the foothills north and south of Tirion, tucked away from the glittering roads so that the lords and Valar did not have to see their small holdings. Erestor found them a small room, barely big enough for the two of them, but Erestor had slept in much worse and Lindir soon learned to live with it as well.
It was a lonely life. Lindir would stay late at the inn, scooping up as much coin as possible. Erestor left before dawn and returned after sunset. They passed like ships in the night. But sooner than they had hoped they had coin enough for another letter.
It was returned unopened.
Erestor had just held that note in his hand and could not think of a single thing to say. For a moment his hope shivered, close to breaking. Then his head came up and he put down that painfully expensive note before he could ruin it. Fine. Fine. If a note would not do the trick then Erestor would go himself.
It took months of searching to find a job within Tirion itself. Lindir had less joy in finding an inn that would take him, since most of Tirion was homes for the lords and nobles of the kingdoms that had come before. Most musical groups within Tirion were based out of households and auditions for them were rare to come by. So on Erestor their hope was hung. Erestor who got a job as an entry level scribe in a store that sold pre-made invitations used by the noble houses in Tirion. Erestor was allowed to ink the borders.
Months turned into a year. Two years. Time moved strangely in Aman, the seasons distinct but sweet within the glittering cities. Not so in the surrounds. Erestor hated the deep snows that came in late winter, making it difficult to slog into work each day with wet robes and damp shoes. But he persisted and month by month was promoted up the ranks until he was allowed out into Tirion itself, to deliver the pre-made invitations to the different households.
Finally they had their chance. Erestor had taken that first delivery and had tried not to look too eager. But when he made his way into Tirion proper he soon found that there were several more hurdles they would have to overcome.
Each tier of Tirion had its own way of doing things. The tier his job was on, the very bottom, meant that they could do business with only those within that tier and two above.
Elrond's manse was on the top tier of Tirion.
Erestor had delivered the invitations, taking longer than his manager liked but was forgiven for it being his first time in the city. Ladriel was a kind enough elf, if harried and overworked by whomever owned their business. He had even found a job for Lindir in a music shop where Lindir could copy sheets of music for sale in the tiers above. Lindir hated it. Erestor hated it. Both of them had been ranked high in Elrond's court, Lindir as the head musician of the court and Erestor...well. He had once been Elrond's chief counselor. He had been part of the Council of Elrond. Not, he'd winced at the memory, that he had the best idea at the time. It was one of the few times he and Glorfindel had ever disagreed on a matter in front of others.
Sometimes Erestor wondered if he had failed some test then. That he had proved craven to their eyes. A coward. Someone whom neither Elrond or Glorfindel would ever like to see again. But then Erestor would try to remember the nights after that Council, when Elrond would sit with him late into the night, sipping wine in the Hall of Fire. Erestor would remember Glorfindel's kind smile and help as they organized Arwen's wedding. Surely they would not have lied with such sincerity in their expressions. So then Erestor would try and push those dark thoughts away, to focus on the future, on finding a way – any way – to get word to Elrond, or even Glorfindel, that he and Lindir were still trying to find their way back to Elrond's side.
And now...now both those elves that Erestor had been searching for, had been striving to reach, were right around the corner and his feet were frozen to the floor.
A part of him wanted to rush forward. A part of him wanted to cry out their names. That was Glorfindel's voice. That was Elrond's voice. But then...but then...
Erestor looked down at his worn robes, at the patch he and Lindir had been forced to figure out for his left shoe. His hair was in a messy braid from running about the lowest tier of Tirion all day. He had not had a proper bath in a week. He had caught sight of his face in a window, looking like a shadow of his former self. How could he face them, looking like this? But if he let this moment pass how could he look Lindir in the face and tell him that a moment of vanity had caused them to miss the first chance they had in years?
Erestor clutched those scrolls tighter to his chest and steeled his spine. He took one step forward. A second. A third. He rounded the corner.
“Halt,” a guard in a strange livery held a pike across his front, barring his way. “The Lords need no interruption. Go another way.”
“I...”
“I said go, or I shall be forced to call the local guard.”
Erestor stepped back, his gaze slipping past the guard for a moment. Glorfindel and Elrond looked like proper lords, in silk and velvet, both with circlets of fine metal and jewels upon their brows. They were far upon the wall, far enough that Erestor would have to shout to get their attention.
“I said,” the guard lowered his voice and the shaft of his weapon pushed against Erestor's chest. “Go.”
Erestor was forced back, breath tangling in his throat. He stared up at that guard, unknown to him, for all the elves of Elrond's former household had been turned away at Tirion's gates. “My apologies,” he whispered and turned away. The spot between his shoulders itched until he turned a corner and the guard's looming presence was gone.
But just because someone told Erestor to do something it did not mean he was going to do what he was told.
He was quick enough to finish his deliveries, knowing that somehow – somehow – if things did not go well with Erestor's wild plan that Ladriel would know that Erestor had dawdled in doing his job. That could not be risked. Not yet. But for right now, for this wild plan to work, Erestor needed empty arms and free hands.
Long had Erestor known Elrond. Long had he known his particularities. Elrond liked to walk upon walls, to gaze out over places, to see what he could see. Such walks could take an hour, if they were lucky. Longer if they were not. Which meant Erestor had a window of time to somehow find his way upon that wall and finally, finally see his friend and brother and lord once more.
Down, down further than Erestor would like, he found a wall covered in vibrant emerald green ivy. The thick vines crisscrossed their way up the stone, making easy handholds for Erestor to grasp. He scaled that wall in a flash, popping up on the lower ledge where he thought Elrond and Glorfindel might be.
Now he just had to find them before he was seen.
Erestor ran along that wall, feeling like his feet barely touched the ground. His breath was caught in his throat, with a twist of emotion sitting just below his ribs. His heart felt like a hummingbird trapped in his chest. He thought he saw a flash of blue and grey. Elrond's colors. A flash of crimson and gold. Glorfindel. He was...he was close. He almost...he could almost hear...
“...think they are?”
“I do not know. I have sent people to look for –”
“Elrond,” Erestor called as he caught a handhold of ivy and hauled himself up to the next ledge. A wild laugh was caught behind his teeth. The only thing he could think to say, the thing that Erestor had said more than anything else to Elrond in the long years of their friendship came slipping out of his mouth. “Might I have a word?”
“Erestor!”
Hands helped him up. Erestor found himself hugged within an inch of his life, being lifted off of the ground in Elrond's exuberance. His collar became a bit wet. (Erestor was Firmly Ignoring how Elrond's own collar might have grown just a touch damp as well.)
There was a warm hand on his shoulder that belonged to Glorfindel. The guards had let out a cry at Erestor's appearance but that was soon cut off, though Erestor did not see why. He was too busy being squeezed by Elrond, who was peppering him with questions too quick to answer.
Finally he was set down and Elrond put his hands on Erestor's shoulders, his eyes shining with joy. “My dearest, dearest friend! I am so happy to see you! I have been so...worried...”
Erestor beamed at him. “I am so happy to see you as well, my lord.”
“Erestor.”
“And Lindir will be so glad as well!” Erestor rolled over whatever else Elrond was about to say. “I do apologize for our separation. Aman has been...interesting to get used to.”
“Erestor, why are you so pale?”
“Does it matter? I had hoped to find your address one day so that I – we – might call upon you one day! We did not catch such information when we all arrived, as joyous as that celebration was and we did not want to take away –”
“Erestor,” both of Elrond's eyebrows were raised. “You are coming home with me. Right now.”
“Not without Lindir,” Erestor said. He watched as Elrond's gaze flicked from him to...Glorfindel? Strange. And then back again.
“I did not know you and Lindir had Bound yourselves? And with not a word to your friends in the meantime?”
“Bound?” Erestor peered at Elrond.
Elrond peered back. “You are not Bound with Lindir in marriage?”
“No,” Erestor said. “Why would you think that?”
“Why would I...” Elrond's expression was strange. “Erestor, why are you so thin?”
“Food is expensive,” he waved a hand. “But really, if I go with you now Lindir won't be able to gain entry –”
“What do you mean he won't be able to gain entry?”
Erestor blinked at Elrond. “We're Moriquendi,” he said.
“And?”
“And,” he drew out the word. “Moriquendi are not allowed into Tirion without either having living arrangements or employment within.”
Elrond sputtered. “That is nonsense!”
“Oh, I agree but I got yelled at by guards and threatened with a thumping if I attempted to stay too long. We did try to write a letter to you but...it must have been lost in the post.”
“Nothing here is lost in the post – no. Absolutely not. We are going to go get Lindir right this second and you are both coming home with me. Today.”
Which was how Erestor found himself tucked between a strangely quiet Glorfindel and an Elrond whose temper was getting hotter and hotter the lower into Tirion they went. And when they stopped at the music shop where Lindir was employed Erestor thought Elrond might set something on fire with the way sparks were glinting off Vilya on his finger.
It only got worse when Erestor tried to sneak off for a moment to speak to Ladriel about taking the day off from work.
“You work here? What do you mean you're working as a scribe? You were my Chief Counselor in Imladris and they – this – you were forced –”
“Elrond, all is well. We were figuring out how to find you so that we might...inquire as to whether you would have us join your household once more.” Erestor had taken Elrond's hand when he thought his friend might combust on the spot.
“Chief Counselor?” Ladriel said. It must have been Erestor's imagination that he sounded faint. Then, “Wait, you're that Chief Counselor?”
Erestor turned to look at him. Ladriel had gone quite pale. “What are you talking about?”
Which was how Erestor – and Lindir – found out that Elrond had put up quite the fuss about finding his Chief Counselor and Head Musician from Arda and that search parties had gone out to find them. How Elrond had been told that they had gone first into the Springs of Vána and then the Isle of Estë and then and then and then.
Erestor exchanged a look with Lindir. “Uh,” was the summation of his eloquence. “No?”
Elrond's frown was quite dark. “Then where were you?”
“Here,” Erestor made a vague gesture. “Well, not here since we weren't allowed to reside in Tirion but we have a small room to let in Foririn –”
“Foririn?”
“Yes, north of Tirion, lovely little place. Anyway, we stayed at an inn at first –”
“An inn.”
“But we had not understood that we would need funds. Here.” Erestor still felt rather cranky about that.
“Funds? What do you mean you need funds?”
Erestor squinted at his friend. “Do tell me that your butler knows how to balance the budget of your household.” He had absolutely no idea why Elrond had that look on his face. Nor why it looked as though Glorfindel was growing ever taller and shinier by the second. “So, in order to contact you, we thought to procure employment –”
“I am so sorry, my lord,” Ladriel whispered.
It took Erestor a moment to realize that Ladriel was talking to him. “You're...forgiven? Not that you need it, I am so very grateful for your help and employment these two years.” Ladriel just backed away a few steps, shoulders up by his ears.
“You've been working as a scribe. For two years?”
“Yes?” Erestor looked back at Elrond. “I was a bit rusty at first, to be honest. I'm rather embarrassed by some of my early work.”
“We're going home. Right now.” Elrond's voice was faint. “You have no idea the snit Galadriel is about to throw. Come along. I need wine. A lot of it.”
Erestor was more than happy to get into the carriage with Elrond, Lindir, and Glorfindel. He even ended up on the same seat as Glorfindel! How wonderful. Even if he felt a bit grimy. And more than a bit embarrassed by his threadbare robe and patched shoes. Lindir was in little better condition. Still it put something at ease in Erestor's chest to know that both Elrond and Glorfindel had been looking for them and that they had been missed.
Perhaps, Erestor thought as his hope grew with every turn of the wheel towards Elrond's manse, he could finally come home.