4. Farewell to Balar
Mithlond
It was difficult to avoid a token appearance after dinner, but Erestor had found if he moved briskly, as though on his way to somewhere in particular, he could normally evade conversation. To begin with, this had been a ploy to elude people who might ask awkward questions about his stay in Eregion and if he had ever actually met Sauron, but by now he was drawing back from social intercourse in general and a short term convenience was on the way to becoming a habit.
He had picked out a quiet corner where he could finish his wine in peace and then go up to bed if Lindir didn’t appear and was on his way there when he noticed the approaching officer, clad in the blue and white tunic, red cloak and well-shone helmet of the king’s guard. He wore a determined look as he bisected the crowd at an angle and came to a halt in front of Erestor, effectively barring his way.
The officer jerked his head in something that could barely be called a bow, but then Erestor’s position at court was vaguely defined at best and he lacked a title. “His Majesty asks if you would join him in the garden. I’m to tell you there’s a matter he’d like to discuss.”
His voice was polite, pleasant even, but there was no mistaking this for an optional request; it was a summons, and the officer stood waiting to escort him. Erestor kept his face bland as he finished the wine in a long swallow. He should have felt nervous or been trying to pin down what had provoked the invitation, but the same veil that hung between him and the cheerful crowd in the well-lit palace courtyard seemed to blunt his response to this as well. Putting the cup on the edge of a flower trough where it had some chance of being noticed by the staff, he said, “I wouldn’t dream of keeping His Majesty waiting. Lead on.”
They took the main exit from the courtyard and cut around the side of the palace and down into the portion of the garden reserved for residents, though not towards the private section serving the royal apartments and privileged guests. Gil-galad was easy to find, standing beside the path and looking out to sea.
The officer saluted. “Master Erestor, Sire,” he said and stepped back smartly.
Gil-galad pulled his attention from whatever he was watching and nodded his thanks. He considered Erestor for a moment and then beckoned, a brief, confident inclination of fingers.
“Thank you for coming,” he said formally, which was totally unnecessary to Erestor’s mind as there had been very little choice. “Are you all right here or should we go inside? If that’s silk, you’re likely to freeze.”
Silk was fashionable in Ost-in-Edhil though had barely reached chilly Mithlond, at least not in the form of apparel, though some exceptional wall hangings had been imported. The finely woven robe, glowing in deep jewel shades, had seemed a viable choice for dinner, but it had been bought to impress other eyes in another time. A shard of ice traced his spine at the memory. “I’m all right. You wanted to see me?”
Gil-galad’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded and gestured ahead. “Walk with me.”
Erestor fell in step with him and they went down into the garden, away from the light and noise. There were little lanterns sparkling in the bushes along the two most popular paths, otherwise they were in a fragrant jumble of shapes with a view of the deeper dark that was the sea. There were benches set at intervals, where residents could enjoy the sun during the day, but the air coming off the gulf was cold. Gil-galad paused beside one, looked around, still concerned. “Didn’t realise the wind had come up this much. We can go in…?”
“It’ll do,” Erestor said and meant it. He would rather be outdoors in the cold than confined to some quiet room indoors. “Over there, it’s sheltered. I like being able to smell the sea again, it’s been a while.”
They sat. Erestor shook the skirts of the robe to hang neatly and then let his hands rest loosely in his lap. He looked out towards the sea, a dark mass under the stars, and ignored the wind tugging at his hair. He felt like a deer that had tried to outrun the huntsman and now stood exhausted, breathless, awaiting the final blow. He had no doubt that all his careful avoidances of the past weeks had finally come to nothing and knew with unexpected certainty that whatever the cost, he could not tell a direct lie to this man.
Gil-galad gave an appearance of ease as he leaned into the opposite corner of the bench, but was being careful not to touch him. In the past it would have been natural in a secluded spot like this for him to reach out a hand to play with Erestor’s hair, rest it on his shoulder or waist, but those days were gone. Instead he sat looking out into the dark as though gathering his thoughts. Finally he spoke, picking the words slowly.
“I have watched you for weeks, avoiding friends, avoiding me, trying to drown yourself in work. You come to dinner in the evenings because you must, have a cup of wine, then vanish off to bed before anyone can get close. You go to a lot of trouble to put yourself as far from me as you can – probably because I’m harder to ignore than other people. You’ve been quiet as a ghost since you got back from Eregion. I want to know what’s wrong.”
“That’s not fair,” Erestor was put out rather than affronted; real outrage took more energy than he currently had available. “Of course I talk to people.”
Gil-galad snorted. “Oh yes, of course. I suppose you might be talking to Arvarad about more than his job. You’re certainly talking to that musician, Lindir – he’s the only person I’ve seen you with more than once of an evening. Maeriel’s worried about you. She wanted to confront you, but I told her to wait, whatever’s troubling you would come out in its own time. You always talk to me in the end. But you haven’t. And so we are here.”
“I’ve been away a while,” Erestor pointed out. Normally his mind would have been racing, lining up the best words to present his point, but it was empty and light. It was as though trying to outplay Annatar had drained his skill. ”It takes a while to adapt, especially with so many changes.”
“Rubbish,” Gil-galad said bluntly. “You look as though you barely sleep. You are so pale that if you were mortal, I’d guess you were ill. There’s plenty for me to worry about right now, Erestor. It’s enough. I want to know what happened in Eregion.”
Erestor thought he had nothing to say, so when they came, the words seemed to fall out of their own volition.
“I slept with him. It went on for a few weeks, I just…”
“The world won’t end, Res. There were no promises, we were both free to do as we chose.” The tone was impatient but amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. “The Mighty know, I’ve not been celibate. I didn’t expect a musician, but I wasn’t surprised to find you’d met someone, there’s no need to…”
Erestor stared at him for a moment and then saw the error. He caught Gil-galad’s arm, almost shaking it. “Annatar,” he said urgently. “Not Lindir. Annatar.”
Little night insects droned into the ensuing silence, frogs called. Something disturbed a nesting bird and it cried out in alarm. The sea hissed and whispered. The air was very cold, too cold for silk, but salty and clean.
Gil-galad straightened up. All he said was, “Tell me.”
Erestor kept the sentences short, to the point. At times the wind caught his words and carried them away and Gil-galad had to lean closer to hear but he never asked for a repeat: perhaps he knew Erestor might not start again if he was interrupted. After he finished, nothing was said for a while. Gil-galad sat staring into the dark, unblinking. The wind was growing colder. Resisting the urge to tug the silk closer about him. Erestor let the air bite. It kept him anchored, real, far from that windowless room in Annatar’s exquisitely appointed little house.
“I didn’t know,” he said quietly. “He was Celebrimbor’s honoured guest, no more, no less. I didn’t know. No one knew.”
“Did you tell him anything more than you mentioned in your debriefing?” Gil-galad’s voice was even and calm.
“There was gossip, questions about people, their little habits, funny memories I might have about them… I don’t know, it all runs together.”
“I need to know what he knows,” Gil-galad said with deliberate patience. “I need to know if there is anything he can use against us, hold against us, anything that offers him an advantage. I need you to untangle it and tell me.”
“I don’t know.” The words were little more than a breath.
Gil-galad reached over and with an ungentle hand caught his chin and forced his head around, met and held his eyes. “Yes, you know. Now. From the beginning.”
Erestor’s nerves had always been good and they held now, though only just. He stared until Gil-galad released him. “He wanted to know about people I knew – you, of course, Círdan, Gildor, the Lady, who your military heads were and why – joking, asking if they were good choices, asking about their families….. Gossip.”
“Pillow talk, you mean.” Flatly.
Erestor felt his skin crawl but nodded. “Y – yes, I suppose you’d call it that. Pillow talk, yes. Harmless. Nothing that could be used against anyone. I thought – I think he was just curious. I was better placed than he’d realised at first and he wanted to see if anything useful would slip out.”
“And did it?”
Erestor turned to him so fast his hair swung across his face. He pushed it back fiercely. “Of course not. There was nothing to tell. I had no military secrets, he wasn’t asking me for those, he was just…”
“Trying to get you to open a window onto our lives.”
The words were delivered like a slap and Erestor flinched instinctively. Then something Lindir had said came back to him. “But I left, Gil. He didn’t discard me. So whatever he wanted, he must still have been trying to find. Mustn’t he?”
Gil-galad stared at him hard-eyed, then let out a gusty sigh and leaned back. “Res, what the fuck were you thinking? Were you even thinking?”
Erestor scuffed at the gravel surrounding the bench with his toe till he caught himself doing it and stopped. He shook his head. “I thought I could find out more about him, find out who he really was, what he wanted. Yes, it sounds ridiculously arrogant now, but at the time…”
“And meanwhile he was doing exactly the same with you. Just better.”
Erestor held up his hands defensively, then let them drop. Somehow, despite the awfulness of it all, he felt lighter for having it out in the open at last. Not that he planned ever to tell Lindir he had been right.
They looked at one another. Finally Gil-galad reached out, tidied his windblown hair back and left the hand on his shoulder. “Stupidest thing you’ve ever done. How bad was it?”
Erestor looked away. “I can’t talk about that, Gil. It was… its own thing. I can’t – I’m not sure I liked what I learned about myself.”
“He’s a Maiar,” Gil-galad said quite gently. “You need to be sure which are your own thoughts and what he fed you. Anyhow, if you want to talk about it, you know where to find me. You must do, you’ve been so damn good at avoiding me.”
“I didn’t know how to say it and I don’t lie to you. Talking – talking to anyone’s been hard. It was easier to keep my distance.” It was the closest he could get to explaining the way the world seemed permanently just beyond his fingertips.
“And you’re not sleeping with your musician?”The hand on his shoulder moved, fingers found and fondled his earlobe.
About to pass the question off with a joke, Erestor suddenly found himself fending off a sickening rush of acid heat in the pit of his stomach. Musician. Lindir. Eriador.
Badger.
Gil-galad was close enough this time to feel the change. “Res? Something?”
He did not want to talk about it. He had managed Annatar, or as much of the story as he could articulate, and that was surely enough. But he had decided he wouldn’t lie and this would surely be a bigger lie, even if by omission. Annatar – he could not use the other name – was bad judgement, a potentially dangerous mistake. The other was against elven culture and the law of Lindon.
He breathed in, steadied himself, exhaled. “I killed someone.”
Gil-galad’s hand dropped to his shoulder again and lay still. “Go on.”
“An elf.”
The sea spoke to the sky, the sounds of music drifted down the garden from the courtyard. A couple went past, heading for deeper shadow, arm in arm. Gil-galad watched them out of sight then said, “Gods, you never do things by halves. Who and why?”
Erestor felt his mouth twist wryly. “Will you promise me something? I don’t normally beg favours…”
Gil-galad gave him a searching look. “Will I regret this?” Erestor knew he never promised something until he had its shape, knew how far he might compromise himself. They had talked about this before, about how it had been drummed into him from childhood. But mutual trust went back a long way too.
“It doesn’t affect what happened or what you might do about it, but I don’t want to drag anyone else into my mess if I can help it.”
“That’s fair. If it’s a promise I can’t keep, we’ll talk about it.”
Erestor nodded. “Thank you. Lindir knew, but I bullied him into not telling. His hands are clean, his only fault was to be there.”
Gil-galad sighed, shrugged. “I should have guessed. All right, I gave my word and that seems a reasonable request. Though it’s interesting that his first loyalty is to you and not his king.”
“Oh don’t be an ass, this is bad enough.”
Gil-galad let go of a reluctant laugh, Erestor didn’t join in. “I’ve missed that. There’s not many left here who’ll tell me I’m being an ass. All right, you killed an elf. Start at the beginning. How did this happen?”
~*~*~*~
Erestor took the tumbler of brandy from Gil-galad and swallowed a decent mouthful. The liquor burned a path down his throat and spread heat in its wake, though even that could not reach the chill that seemed to have sunk into his bones. Gil-galad had left the room and came back with a cloak which he put around Erestor’s shoulders, his hands lingering a moment before he stepped back.
“Sit. Warm up, you’re like ice. I was selfish, it’s miserable out there.”
Erestor finally glanced around the sitting room, a room he had always liked, taking in the comfortable chairs by the hearth, the divan against one wall heaped with cushions and throws, the table under the window with the familiar Red Mage pieces ready for play. It looked almost as he recalled it, down to the little jade carving of a stupendously ugly dog he had once given Gil, claiming it was a southern version of Huan. They had fallen into bed laughing the night of his return from the East, and the dog had sat on the dresser smirking at them… He sank down onto the closest seat, which was the divan, and shook his head, pulling the cloak tighter around him. “It’s going to rain.”
“Yes, it is.” Gil-galad remained standing, swirling the contents of his glass, frowning. He had listened to the entire story of what happened with Badger with no comment, no expression, just sitting still and granting Erestor space by not looking directly at him. At the end he had said merely that even he was getting cold and they needed to take the conversation indoors. Erestor had thought they would go back to the courtyard or possibly into the great hall, but instead Gil-galad led him in through one of the side doors and along to his own apartment in the private wing. Two warriors kept pace behind them, a new precaution, part of the trappings of a kingdom at war.
“I’m sorry,” Erestor finally said quietly. “I’m not asking you to protect me. I understand what I’ve done, I know the penalty. I just – it’s why I begged Lindir to say nothing. I should have come clean during my debriefing.” He spoke from within a flash of memory: the moonlight glinting off the knife as Badger came in for the kill, the silence, the silhouettes of trees against the night sky, time slowing, his dagger sliding through living flesh, so easy, so easy…
“Then there would have been a formal hearing and I’d have had to keep the law and exile you,” Gil-galad said bluntly. “I couldn’t explain publicly what you were doing in Eriador, why you had to kill rather than lose the harp and what was in it to an Avari thief. So no, on the whole I’m glad you thought better of that.”
“I hoped it would never come out. When Lindir said I should tell you in case Badger’s people came asking questions, that someone might even know we travelled with him, I said it couldn’t happen. But – it could.”
“Yes… it could.” Gil-galad walked to the window, looked out, then pulled the heavy drape back in place. “Foul out there. It could. And if it did, we never had this conversation. You left him just before the crossing, and if something happened to him after, it’s nothing to do with you.”
“I killed an elf, Gil!”
Gil-galad spun round and glared at him. “Yes, you did. And if you hadn’t, where would we be now?”
“I should have subdued him, tied him up or something. I knew that after, but when it happened…”
“You went on instinct and training, you removed the threat. If you had tried to ‘subdue’ him, as you put it, you might have failed, and that might have left you and the musician both dead and Celebrimbor’s rings being passed around among the Avari. How long do you think they could hold them? They’re the pinnacle of Noldor craft and power, Erestor. For good or ill, we’re the ones with the strength and skill to control them. ”
“Yes, but….”
Gil-galad had paced the length of the room and back while he spoke, now he ended up at the fireplace and frowned down at the unlit logs before turning his back to it. His voice was decisive. “You were carrying out my aunt’s orders. The woman is Finwë’s granddaughter, her father is High King over the sea. If later she wants you punished for the way you followed them, she can handle it — though I find it hard to believe she’d be anything less than pragmatic. In her way she’s as single-minded as Maedhros. This puts it out of my hands and I’m not about to lose sleep over it.”
Outrage made the world seem solid once again. “You can’t ignore this. It’s kinslaying…”
“How many times and how many ways do you want to say that?” Gil-galad snapped. “I know what it is and in your place I’d have done the same. I’ve never had a problem with self defence — when I have to pass sentence on that I always try for leniency. The only reason kinslaying became such a specific legal issue is because in the early days it was the only sure way to keep the Sindar from going after Fëanorian Noldor. Same applied to anyone who had to cross the Ice and still held a grudge about the boat burning. This way they had no excuse for dealing their own kind of justice.”
“It is the most reprehensible thing an elf can do,” Erestor said, the words coming by rote, something he had been taught as a child and never lost.
Gil-galad shrugged. “I can think of a few worse, but that’s just me. I know I’d be in the minority if you went down to the courtyard now and took a vote. I’ve gone to some trouble to make sure of that – it lends itself to a peaceful realm.” He fell silent, lost in thought and drinking his brandy. Erestor let him, busy drawing warmth from the brandy and the cloak, which was soft and thick and smelled faintly of Gil. He was beyond fear now: what was about to happen would happen. The things he had feared most, Gil finding out about Annatar, about Badger, had come and gone.
“I think – the distance you’ve put between us since you got back? I think we have to maintain that.”
Erestor looked up, as startled by this as by Gil’s attitude to the killing of elf by elf. “I don’t understand…?”
“You’ve been moving around the palace like a ghost, avoiding the south shore where you can, and this is the first time we’ve been alone together since your return. People are talking – I’d guess the odds fall even between you having a thing with the musician and me having lost interest. I’d like to see more of you, I’ve missed you, but — things like staying the night aren’t wise. Not that I’m saying you necessarily want to,” he added hastily, moved by whatever it was he saw in Erestor’s face. “If this came out, about the dark elf, and there was any suspicion I knew, it wouldn’t sit well. One rule for everyone else, another for my lover. And no one would trust my justice in it either, short of me exiling you to the eastern desert.”
“Not now, I hope.” The words came court-smooth, automatic. The last thing on his mind had been the possibility of him and Gil being lovers again and the stab of something close to fear at the thought put him off balance. “There’s quite a lot of activity going on there that would be unhealthy for a lone elf. And yes, I agree – I’m not the ideal bedmate now, am I?”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Res.”
“Like what?”
“Like – that.” Gil-galad came over to the divan and sank down next to him. Erestor forced himself not to tense up. “Like sex was all it was about and your suitability just ran out. We’re friends, it’s always been entirely more than that.”
“It has, yes.” Erestor focused on keeping his breathing steady. Sex was not a subject he was ready for, it was tied up in flame-shot darkness with Annatar and the things that had happened in that room. “I never thought to come back and pick up where we left off, not after so long. Don’t concern yourself over it. And you’re right, too much time alone together isn’t good, people are certainly watching.”
“I’ve offended you.” Gil-galad said, troubled. “It came out wrong. I’m trying to be practical here.”
Erestor told himself firmly to get a grip on himself. Gil could have exiled him, instead he was applying a common sense solution which was the one he wanted anyhow. Surely? “Not in the least, you just put me in touch with reality. I was so worried about having to lie to you that I paid less attention to how closely interested parties would be watching what happened after I got ho – got back.”
There was nothing to say to that and Gil-galad kept quiet. The wind gusted past outside, rattling the shutters, otherwise the room was still. Erestor felt strange – a bit lost, a bit empty, but not inclined to do anything about either. After a while there was movement beside him and fingers began toying with a lock of his hair. He turned, found Gil-galad watching him, frowning.
He forced a smile. “It’s all right, truly. You’re keeping my guilty secret, and I’m grateful. No inclination to take up desert living or wander alone like Maglor, if that’s what he’s doing. And I never really thought things would go back to being as they were. Time moves on and – things have happened in my life, perhaps I’ve changed too much.” He put up a hand, touched the fingers around which his hair was twined. “It’s all right, Gil. It’s just been a bit emotional and I feel drained right now.”
“I thought we’d be as we were once you’d had time to settle back in and pick up the threads,” Gil-galad said quietly. “It never occurred to me we wouldn’t. We’ve been together since I was a landless king pushed back onto an island on the edge of Beleriand and living under my foster father’s authority. There’s no one else left to tell me not to be an ass…”
Erestor sighed, leaned his head against Gil-galad’s shoulder. “Sorry. I’m just – mixed signals, I know. I am always available when you want someone to call you an ass, I promise. Just not sure I have much else for anyone right now. And that includes Lindir, in spite of what you and everyone else seems to think. That’s just – shared experience speaking, someone who knows where I’ve been. Though there too, it doesn’t hurt for people to assume.”
Gil-galad’s head rested against his, cheek to his hair. “I suppose it doesn’t, no.”
They sat like that for a while, not talking, then there was a knock at the door and Gil-galad rose and was halfway across the room before calling for whoever it was to enter. A young maid hurried in, ducked her head. “I was sent to see if you’d like the fire lit, Sire?” she said a little breathlessly.
Gil-galad looked at the hearth as though he’d not noticed it before. “I suppose you may as well get it going,” he said. “Cheer the room up a little. You’re new, aren’t you? What’s your name?”
Erestor half listened as Gil-galad chatted to the maid, got her name, details about her family, how long she’d been working for him now. He finished the brandy and put the tumbler down on an end table. The table was new and had a green tile inset in the centre to protect the wood from drips. He got up, waited to be noticed.
“Sorry, Erestor. Didn’t mean to keep you.” The tone was brisk and pleasant, with no hint at what had gone before. “You’ll be wanting to get on your way now.”
“If you don’t mind, Sire. It’s getting late.”
“Not at all. We’re riding tomorrow after lunch. Join us, people keep asking where you are.”
Erestor gave his best court smile. “I’d be delighted, Sire. And thank you for your kindness tonight, it’s much appreciated.”
“Not at all. I’m glad we got that sorted out. Have a good night.”
The maid was listening avidly, storing the snatch of conversation to repeat later. Touching circled fingers to his forehead, Erestor sketched the smallest of bows to his king and saw himself out.
Habit took him back towards the courtyard or more likely to the hall, which was where everyone moved to when the weather turned, but he had no wish for company or more to drink and the last person he wanted to run into was Lindir, which was a first in its own right. Instead he went back out to the garden and followed the path down to the wall overlooking the harbour where Lindir had found him on his return to Mithlond. He leaned his arms on it and looked out to sea for a long time, the wind tossing his hair around and striking clean through the heavy silk.
When he had finished reliving memories of Balar and the early days of Lindon – late night conversations and heated kisses, Gil with eyes that were not tired and whose smile could light up a room – he took in a deep breath of salt air, slowly breathed out the promise of the past, and took himself off to bed.
There were no dreams.
~*~*~*~*~
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