(a courtyard interlude)

“You won’t argue about going this time, will you?”

They were in the central courtyard, sitting on the little strip of grass across from the entrance to the dining hall and sharing a pastry Elrond had managed to liberate from the kitchen. While they watched, a stream of workers hurried in and out with flowers, hangings, and the component parts of the High King’s canopy of state in preparation for the evening’s formalities. Elrond was soon due to ride with Gil-galad to the edge of town to greet King Amdir, his family and entourage and escort them to the palace, one of those little touches the king was known for.

“No point arguing with you, is there? You’re spoilt, always expect to get your own way.” Erestor tried to sound put out but that was difficult around a mouthful of pastry. He leaned forward as he ate, trying to avoid crumbs on his dark clothing. “The invitation arrived this morning. I saw your hand in it at once.”

Elrond flashed him a pleased smile, pastry in one hand, the other busily pushing hair back off his face. The side twirls were a new fashion innovation, and while they suited him well enough, his fine hair needed firmer styling to hold it in place. “Come on, you know you enjoyed yourself last time. I got you moved nearer the top table too, so you can watch the action. Ereinion’s already gritting his teeth about dinner, so it should be fun.”

Erestor shook his head, wiped his fingers on his flank and edged back so he could work on Elrond’s hair. “Not too near the top, please. Favouritism is less help to career advancement than you might think.”

Elrond tried to look over his shoulder, but a warning tug on his hair kept him facing forward. “It’s not favouritism, that would be if I got you seated within speaking distance of Ereinion,” he explained, trying to follow the course of two well-built warriors manhandling a large pot containing a flowering lemon tree without moving his head. “This will just look like one of those mistakes that happens sometimes when there’s a big event with a lot of mid-level people to accommodate. Someone always gets lucky – you won’t be the only one.”

“You know exactly how this all works, don’t you?” Erestor tried not to sound admiring and failed utterly. He had a good grasp on the way the world worked and picked things up faster than most, but Elrond effortlessly left him far behind. “I still have to remind myself you weren’t born here sometimes.”

Elrond made a dismissive sound. “No one was born here, Ery. When I was born, this city didn’t exist, Lindon didn’t exist even. Well, the land was here but it wasn’t Lindon back then. Some – other name.”

Erestor nodded, tugged again. “Sit still, I’m trying to make you look respectable enough to greet royalty. And no, of course it didn’t, the Nandor roamed here back then. How well do you remember Sirion?”

Instead of changing the subject, which was his usual response to any question about his childhood, Elrond said slowly, “I remember our house? I thought it was enormous, but… I was very small. It was quite big, I suppose, and it looked out over the sea. My mother’s bedroom was on the harbour side, but you could see the town from our playroom. It was a bit of a mixture – lots of temporary shelters and a few more permanent buildings. I remember one had a dome that must have been mother of pearl. It made rainbows in the sun…”

His voice drifted away, and Erestor kept quiet, working more gently now to anchor the twists and loops of hair at the nape of Elrond’s neck. Finally he couldn’t resist asking, “Your mother’s bedroom? They had separate rooms then, your parents?”

When the words were out they sounded far worse than they had in his thoughts. He was about to excuse the question and change the subject, but to his surprise Elrond laughed briefly, a brittle sound.. “Oh yes, yes they did. I only saw Father’s a few times. It was a sailor’s private space, he had interesting bits of driftwood and shells and things like that. Mother’s had an open balcony where she could feed the birds.”

Which explained that, Erestor supposed. “You don’t like birds much, do you?”

One question too many. “And you don’t like those brightly coloured fish in the palace lake, but people don’t assume something fishy in your childhood scarred you. Birds are noisy and messy, that’s all. Elros didn’t like them much, either.”

Elros had been the soul of practicality and was Elrond’s final answer to criticism. If he had not liked birds, then birds were probably unlikable. Nothing to do with their fey, distant mother, famed for her almost mystical connection to the sea birds that flocked around Sirion.

Erestor had already worked out from throwaway comments that Elwing had been a little strange and childlike, not strong on mothering skills which remained the preserve of the twins’ much-loved nurse. Their father’s regular absences had left him a vague presence in their lives, distantly recalled. Erestor had come to the conclusion people should be required to undergo lessons in parent craft before being allowed to breed. He was careful not to share the thought.

“What are you thinking?”

He did this a lot, and it was downright unnerving. Erestor told himself Elrond was just picking up cues of body language or longer than necessary silences, but it was a trifle uncanny how he always asked that question when Erestor was thinking thoughts best kept to himself. “Just trying to work out why I don’t like those big, ugly fish. They’re just wrong – fish aren’t meant to look like that, all patches of colour. Where do they come from, do you know?”

As intended, this immediately distracted Elrond. “No idea. Círdan brought them. He has some in his private garden too. Doesn’t say where they come from.” He turned against the pressure of Erestor’s hands, his face alight with mischief. “We need to find out. I’ll bet he brings them back from the Undying Lands. I’ve never seen anything like them, and we moved all over the place when I was small.”

He was so taken with the idea, he even forgot to add the customary side swipe at Maedhros that normally accompanied any reference to those years. Erestor grinned to himself. “So – you’ll corner him and ask if he’s bringing fish back from Aman? Right behind you, Elrond.”

Elrond looked scorn at him. “Don’t be dim. Of course I wouldn’t ask him. But I know who sails with him… someone will tell us.”

Erestor wondered how this had become an ‘us’ matter. “They’re a tight knit group, so I’ve heard,” he remarked, giving a final tweak to make sure his styling would survive the ride. “Not sure anyone will talk out of turn there. You can try, of course.”

Elrond whistled for Laslech, who had been watching the business with the lemon tree with even more interest than her master. The dog’s logic was clear: warriors tended to like her, which sometimes led to treats. She pricked up her ears at the summons and ambled back across the courtyard obediently. Elrond took a moment to pat her and tell her she was a good girl, then rose gracefully to his feet, offering Erestor his hand. Erestor came up in a swirl of shining black hair and for a minute the two young elves faced one another, hands clasped.

With his most winning smile Elrond said, “What I was thinking was that you could ask. Officially. I’m sure someone would need to know if contraband fish were being brought in from Aman?”

Erestor gave him an open-mouthed stare, and Elrond grinned in delight. Usually Erestor was two steps ahead of him. “We can sort out details later, if you like. Right now I have to go meet the King of Lorien, and you haven’t even once remembered to complain about needing to get back to work. But you do. Oh – and can you look after Laslech for me? I’ll fetch her when I get back. If I take her along, Ereinion’ll complain about her not keeping up. Stay, girl. Stay with Erestor.”

He was off in a flurry of green cloak and soft hair, leaving Erestor to stare after him, Laslech at his side. He looked down at the dog; he had no idea what to do with her for the rest of the morning. Try and get her to sit quietly beside his desk, he supposed. She was Elrond’s dog, which should be enough to silence any complaints from his superior.

“I’ll end up on Círdan’s bad side, and all because I had to go and ask about birds,” he confided in Laslech. “Which raised more questions than it answered about Elwing, too. Later I’ll have to get him to see why we’re not accusing Círdan of smuggling, but right now I need to figure out the dress code for a formal dinner to welcome the King of Lorien. I wonder how close to the top table he means by closer?”

Not close enough to speak to the king, he’d made that clear. But – possibly close enough to be noticed. Lost in thought, Erestor retrieved the dog’s leash from the grass and clipped it to her collar. Straightening up, he shook his head to clear it. Enough of daydreams, he would follow his instincts as always and things would work out as they should. Right now, it was time to get back to work.

~*~*~*~*~

Beta: Red Lasbelin