Part Six
“Nothing that rises more than shoulder height into the air and not…”
“Not outside the circle you’ve outlined for me so they can’t be seen from outside the valley, yes I know. That’s what you’ve told me – over and over and over again,” Erestor snapped.
The office was small and rather cramped, chosen mainly for its dramatic view of the ravine with the cliff rising up to the moors, the spray from the waterfall with its dancing rainbows when the sun was at the right angle, and the stone bridge which had to be crossed by anyone entering or leaving Imladris. Erestor was working through a sheaf of papers, initialling pages and scribbling margin notes. He looked fed up with life. Glorfindel was leaning against the doorframe, watching him. “Are you reading those properly? I’m not sure I’d risk skimming anything Elrohir put in front of me.”
“I’m reading every word, I read fast,” Erestor said without glancing up. “Most of these we discussed before, I just need to look at numbers and names really, and any part where the writing inexplicably grows small, scrunched or harder to read. Yes, I know all the tricks.”
Glorfindel chuckled. “I wonder how? Be long? I thought we could try for an outside table at lunch, there’s no wind today.”
“You need to go on ahead and get a table then, it’ll be packed,” Erestor told him, frowning down at something.
“Or we could pick up food and go sit down by the river under the trees?”
“Like a courting couple, you mean? Because that’s all you’ll find there.”
“You’re not in a very good mood today, are you?”
Erestor slapped another page down, signed it, sanded it, and put it neatly on top of its predecessor. “I have enough to do without fussing over all these details, so no, not in a very good mood.”
Glorfindel pushed away from the door and crossed the room in a few strides to stand behind him sliding his hands under long, dark hair and resting them firmly on tense shoulders. Erestor tried to shrug him off and Glorfindel applied pressure, grinning to himself. “You sit still and read, I’ll do something about these knots. Hunching over this desk for hours isn’t good for you, your body hates it. It wants to be out on a horse or sitting on the grass next to the river.”
Erestor turned his head in half circles to loosen his neck and sighed. “Yes, probably, but I wanted to get everything out of the way before the festival. There’ll be days of work afterwards, making sure it’s all been cleaned up, soothing everyone who feels their special interest crop or animal was adversely affected by the fireworks or those same courting couples you’ll find along the river now, who’ll be making a more determined effort in all sorts of inconvenient places then.”
“Is that what courting couples do at harvest time?” Glorfindel asked in a low, amused voice. “You never told me. I’m sure I wouldn’t like to overlook any of the time honoured customs of this Age. I’ll see what I can do about it.”
“You’re bad,” Erestor informed him. He sounded pleased about it. “And – are we courting? I’m not sure what it is we’re doing, but I thought courting was an altogether more innocent activity.”
“Ha, yes, well my Aman morality has been corrupted by your evil influence, that’s why,” Glorfindel told him, fingers flexing and pushing steadily at shoulders, back, neck, looking for knots and signs of tension. “Would never have thought of doing such a thing before, it’s against the Laws and Customs.”
“I hear you, overwhelmed with guilt, yes,” Erestor said dryly. “I shall remind you of this conversation tonight. Perhaps I should help you regain your lost innocence?”
“No thank you, I’m sure it’s too late for that. Anyhow, I sleep badly without you. You wouldn’t want me to sleep badly, a kind hearted little person like you?”
Erestor tried to turn and glare at him. “Enough of the little. I sometimes wonder if you’re not some kind of freak of nature. I think I told you, when I was young I read how the Noldor of Gondolin were small and slight of stature.”
“Why?”
“Huh?”
“Why would they be small? Do you think Turgon rounded up all the short people in Vinyamar and said come along with me, I have found the most awesome valley?”
Erestor shook with laughter. “You’re spending far too much time up at the barracks. No, of course not, but it did rather imply there was some kind of natural selection going on there.”
Pausing to stroke fingertips down Erestor’s neck and appreciate the little shiver this induced, Glorfindel considered. “You’ve heard about Thel. Do you think he sounds little and delicate?”
“I never said delicate. I am – not all that tall – and I am far from delicate.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that. Anyhow, we were normal Noldor, mainly bigger built than the average Sindar… Why were we talking about this again?” He used the heels of his hands to put pressure along Erestor’s shoulder blades. “And sit still, you’re not cooperating.”
“We were deciding if we were a courting couple or not after all this time.” Erestor picked up the next page and tried to sit still.
“You don’t think we’re a courting couple? Then what are we, in your opinion?”
“Um… two people who got to know each other and like each other very much?”
“You sleep with all the people you like very much?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I like Elrond and Celebrían would geld me if I tried to seduce him.”
“Quite right too. So – only some of the people you like?”
“Um …. Maybe only one person that I like?”
“Just like?”
“Like very much?”
“I like Lindir very much.”
Erestor swung round. “You had better not.”
Glorfindel burst out laughing and Erestor joined in. “No, really, I don’t know what we are, but – it’s – very special and… something I never expected to experience again.” Erestor turned a little in the chair to look up at him, laughter fading, amber eyes growing serious. “I don’t think anyone’s ever really courted me before, not in the traditional ways, and you and I just grew into what we have. We were friends and then I turned round and …”
“And I was having nightmares and you started sharing my bed and somehow we’ve never looked back, yes,” Glorfindel said gently, cupping Erestor’s face and running his thumb over his cheek, following the line of the bone. “And that was some time ago, so we’re meant to be an established, if discreet, couple, but every time I wake up and you’re there, it’s like the first time. So – not quite a courting couple, but still not settled and boring either. I could court you, if you’d like though. Never too late.”
“Could we try celebrating the harvest in the traditional way at least?” Erestor asked with a slow, wicked smile, golden flecks of light dancing in his eyes. “Somehow I’ve never done that before.”
“Too respectable to be dragged off into the bushes and thoroughly seen to?” Glorfindel asked with a grin. “I can remedy that.”
“You’re feeling better about the festival, I see,” Erestor commented before turning reluctantly back to the last few pages he had to go through. “You must if you can even consider a bit of harvest carnality.’
‘You always find such a lovely turn of phrase, don’t you? No, I’m not feeling that edgy sense of ‘something’s happening’ at the moment, you’re right. But – it’s not over, Ery. It’s just…waiting.”
Erestor frowned at him. “Waiting?”
Glorfindel nodded, suddenly grave. “Waiting. Brooding. Biding its time. Whatever it is. But it’s very far from over.”
~*~*~*~
Síladon lay in bed watching the moon travelling slowly behind the leaves of the old tree. It was late and Nana had been asleep for a long time now. He was finding it harder to sleep, because soft in the dark, the ring seemed to be whispering to him. It had been going on for days now, low, indistinct but still there, sounding in a weird way like Ada’s voice but coming from a great distance and through layers of cloth. They had done an experiment like that in music once, muffling their voices and then removing layer after layer until they could hear true clarity again. He wasn’t afraid exactly, he could never be afraid of anything connected to Ada, but still, it was very strange.
He thought of telling Nana about the ring and the voice, but he had taken it from her jewel box without permission, and there was no way to explain how it had moved from there to the pouch under his pillow. He wished that he could, he wanted someone to talk to about it. If Gelirgan had still been in Imladris, he could have gone to him; they used to share all their secrets, what there were of them, but Gelirgan was in the Undying Lands now, where there was no war and fathers always came home.
Instead, he had boys like Tegior and Calareg for company. They were still teasing him about the clothes. Not Calareg, who had made a point of telling him they weren’t old clothes, just that he’d grown too tall and that he was glad for Síladon to have them. but the others found it worth a prod or two. Few days passed without at least one boy calling him Doggypants, softly but distinctly as he passed them. He sat near the girls now in the midday break; they took no nonsense from the boys, and he was more likely to be left alone there.
‘We can find a way to make them stop.’
The words were quite distinct, so clear that he jumped, looking instinctively across the room for Ada before he had a chance to be really scared. There was no one else there though, only Nana sleeping peacefully with her back to him. Cautiously he slid his hand under the pillow and rested it on the pouch. It felt – warm. He brought it out, holding it firmly in his hand and waited. Nothing happened for a few moments, then softly the voice that was so like Ada’s said, ‘There are ways to make sure they learn to respect you and stop making fun of you.’
Síladon sat up, eyes wide and heart racing. He knew it couldn’t be Ada, not really, and yet – and yet it was his ring and might have some kind of connection with him, and the strange stone with its many, shifting colours was like nothing he had ever seen before. Perhaps – perhaps there was magic in the ring, some way for Ada to speak to him from wherever he was. Nana had explained about Mandos and the Halls of Silence, but he was a little unclear about how it all worked, just that elves’ voices were not stilled forever the way animals were. In any event, everyone knew Lord Glorfindel had died fighting a Balrog and been sent back. He had never heard of people speaking from the Halls, but it might be an adult thing that was not talked about around children.
A sudden, compelling instinct made him put the pouch round his neck and then climb quietly out of bed and look around for his shoes and cloak. If Nana woke and asked, he could always say he wanted some water or thought he had heard a sound. He crossed the floor very carefully and quietly, shoes in hand, through to the main room and then, mouse-soft, out of the door and onto the grass outside the cottage. Here he paused to put on his shoes. It was very late, and looking up and down the lane he could see few lights. Faintly in the far distance he could hear singing coming from the Hall of Fire, which was on the other side of the trees and hard up against the cliff – they must be having a grand old time to be making so much noise, he could imagine Ada saying with a smile.
He thought for a minute then went down the side of the cottage, stopping at the end, level with the bedroom, and looked up at the tree. He was very close to the river now, could even see the water moving, glinting in the moonlight. It was darker back here because of the trees and the river masked any other sounds for a time, but soon he heard it again, the insistent little voice that seemed to come from the pouch but also from far away, telling him there were always answers.
Síladon reached up, loosed the drawstring at the neck of the pouch, then pushed and slid the ring up to where he could reach it and fish it out. It glittered in the palm of his hand with a strange dark light that had something to do with the moon and the shadow under the trees. He knew without being told that the way to hear what it – Ada – had to say was simple: he needed to put it on.
He had it over the tip of his finger but then paused, frightened by the way the night seemed to change. It was as though something had come between him and all the usual sounds, even the river seemed further away, its rippling flow muted. The soft whispering of the trees faded and the air around him felt different, charged, listening. He wanted to go back to bed very badly, but even more than that, he wanted to talk to Ada, wanted to be able to ask where he was, how he could hear him, if Nana would be able to hear him… if it had hurt.
He stood there, indecisive, until movement flickered at the very edge of his peripheral vision and he turned his head sharply, heart jumping in his chest. For a moment he thought one of the Houseless was coming for him, then he realised he was seeing Navinai and her young man, as Nana called him, Draugon the cobbler’s son, walking along under the trees towards him. Draugon’s arm was around her, and their heads were close together. They were too wrapped up in one another to have noticed him yet, but they soon would, and he had no excuse for being outside this late on his own. They might even insist on waking Nana to tell her.
He dropped the ring back into the pouch and retraced his steps quickly and as quietly as he could manage, round the corner, back into the cottage, carefully closing the door. Leaning against it, he took his shoes off while listening for any hint that Nana was awake, but there was none. He crossed the living room and then the bedroom like a shadow, put his shoes and cloak back where they belonged, and got carefully into bed. Nana never stirred. Outside he could hear the faint murmur of voices as the young couple passed the cottage. Taking the pouch off, he put it back under the pillow. The ring felt heavy and was sullenly quiet.
Somehow he felt almost relived things had gone no further. Something was – not right with the way Ada had spoken about making the boys respect him. Watching the moon sliding closer to the corner of the window, Síladon wondered if people changed in Mandos. If so, perhaps it would be better not to listen too hard to what Ada, if that voice really was Ada, was saying. He felt very small and very alone, and he was no closer to finding an answer when sleep finally claimed him.
~*~*~*~*~
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Beta: Red Lasbelin