Innocence
by Soledad
Disclaimer:
The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I’m only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun. Fíriel was borrowed from Deborah’s excellent story ’’As Little Might Be Thought’’, albeit she has no name there. Only Erestor’s family belongs to me.
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter.
Please read Warnings before the Prologue.
Author’s Notes:
Time: 533, 3rd Age
Summary: the community of Imladris celebrates the ritual of seasonal turning on the Eve of Enderi, the three middle days of the Elven seasonal year. An old friend of Lórien makes an appearance and we meet a survivor of Tol Sirion.
This is Part One from the 4th chapter – it turned out too long, so I broke it into two parts.
Many thanks to the helpful members of the Henneth Annun discussion group who helped me to find the Quenya poems to this story.
Not beta-ed, so sorry for any mistakes.
Chapter 4: The Eve of Enderi – Part One
[The 54th day of yávië(1), in the year 532 of the Third Age]
The rich brown, golden and deep burgundy colours of autumn lent a spectacular sight to the terraces of Imladris, and the approaching sunset only deepened those colours. Pausing for a few moments from his increasingly hectic domestic activities, Erestor sat on a low stone bench in the porch looking to the West, listening to the sweet music that came up to his watchpost from one of the inner gardens.
From his resting place up there he could see the musicians as well: a tall, dark-haired young Elf, playing his wonderfully-crafted, silver-stringed harp with skilled fingers, and an even younger, more slender one playing a simple silver flute, his unbraided hair falling freely upon his narrow shoulders like a pale silk curtain.
Erestor was glad that his young charge, at least, found some comfort in his music. The last three and a half seasons had been difficult. Lindir still stubbornly refused to speak, though he did sing sometimes, mostly when he was alone in one of his many hiding places, and all were enraptured with the sweetness of his voice. He did everything Erestor told him to do, listened carefully to Elrond or Glorfindel when they taught him, but his only reactions so far had been a nod or a shrug or a shake of his head.
He had, however, developed a strange friendship with Elrohir during their shared love for music. Elrohir, always the more light-hearted, more playful one of Elrond’s sons, discovered the youngling’s gift after a mere few days, and did not let shake himself off by Lindir’s demeanor. When he was confronted with stubborn silence, just like the others, he found a different approach. He brought out his harp, sat in the garden before Lindir’s balcony, and simply played every evening, every song he had ever heard – and some of his own, too.
It took him eleven days, but finally he cajoled the youngling out of his solastice. Lindir appeared in one of the window-entrances, as if magically drawned by the sweet harmonies, stood there for a while, then silently stepped out into the garden and sat town to Elrohir’s feet. He showed no other reaction, but from that day on he would come out every night, sitting at Elrohir’s feet and listening to his music.
And so on it went during the whole season of coirë. Lindir obeyed Erestor in every thing, he would partake in the shared work and other activities of the household, listened to Elrohir’s music under the starlit sky – but he would not speak. Not a single word.
By then, Elrond and Celebrían had understood that this was no mere stubbornness from the boy’s side. It was the physical manifestation of the shock over having been separated from Radagast and from his earlier life – a sign that they still were but strangers to him, whom he did not trust. The Lord and the Lady knew not how to heal him, for such things could not be forced. They only hoped that Elrohir might find a way to his heart.
The day of mettarë(2) arrived, and the cycle of seasons from the recent loa was now complete, when Erestor, to his mild surprise, found his young charge in his own study. Lindir was sitting on a low, wooden stool Erestor only used to step on when he wanted to reach the rarely-needed books on the top shelf and played on his silver flute.
It was a simple-looking instrument for the untrained eye, but Erestor was born in the city of Celebrimbor and spent his childhood among the best jewel-smiths of the Noldor. He knew the craftsmanship of Valinor when he saw it. He was sure the flute had once belonged to Aiwendil who brought it with him from the Blessed Realm – and gave it to the boy when he detected Lindir’s rare gift in music.
Voicing his guess, he was rewarded with one of Lindir’s shy smiles, and the youngling offered him the instrument for a thorough study. Erestor turned it between his fingers in awe, admiring the magnificent work that was put into such a seemingly simple form, muttering half-forgotten words of praise that he hed heard at times when the Lord Celebrimbor or one of the Dwarves visited his father’s workshop – for Hargil had been considered one of the best of his generation and his work highly appreciated.
This seemed to catch Lindir’s interest, for he looked at his tutor with a curiously arched eyebrow, and Erestor sat down with a sigh and told him some of his more happy memories from a childhood drowned in blood and fire. Lindir listened to him with rapt interest – mayhap this was his first glimpse of family life – and mutely nudged him to continue when he stopped.
But Erestor was tired from a long day’s work and the memories drained him. He promised Lindir to tell him more another time and retreated to his own bedchamber, though he suspected that his sleep would not be restful.
And he guessed rightly. The dreams came back again, as they used to at this particular time of the year, for this was the eve of yestarë(3), the first day of the new year, and that was the day when Ost-in-Edhil had been burnt to the ground and her people slain.
But this time something filtered through the horrible noise and all-too-vivid images of the massacre that had happened many centuries ago: a voice, coming from afar, so soft and sweet as he had never heard, save mayhap the lullabies of his mother. It sang something in Quenya, but the words of the Noble Tognue sounded even more ancient than usually, as if the singer would have used an old, forgotten dialect.
A Elentári Tintalle
silmarin penda mírea
menello alcar eldion!
Haiyanna palantírina
aldarembie endorillor
Fanoiolosse, len linduvan
nive ear, simen nive earon!(4)
It was the first time that he had heard Lindir’s voice since his arrival to Imladris. For it was Lindir, of course, sitting on a chest near the windows, his ancient song melding seamlessly with the music of the waterfalls, his long, pale gold hair gleaming like silver in the moonlight.
Erestor dared not to move, in fact he barely dared to breathe, fearing that knowing he was awake would shy the youngling away. But once again he underestimated Lindir’s sensitivity. It seemed, the boy was well aware of his awakening, for he finished his song, gave him one of his shy, hesitant smiles and disappeared in the night like a ghost
Still, all were relieved that Lindir at least was able to use his voice again, even if he was only willing to express himself in songs. For the songs he knew were so ancient that no-one had ever heard them before (save Glorfindel, of course, and Elrond himself, who had learnt more from his foster father than he was able – or ready – to share with even his own family), and he shared them with the household readily, taking pleasure in their obvious joy.
The music lessons with Elrond became truly exciting after that, and the Lord of the Valely enjoyed greatly to teach the gifted youngling the fine points of making a new song. Lindir listened to him intently, as it was his way, and followed the instructions he was given, but no new song had been made by him, not yet at least, only lovely pieces of music that he played on his Valinorean flute, and Elrohir learnt from him these short and wondrously light-hearted pieces, and they made music together almost every day and became friends – well, in a way.
For music was about the only thing they could really share, Lindir not being able to speak still, shrinking back in muted horror when someone tried to make him even touch any weapons, so archery lessons – one of the most beloved pastimes of the twins – were out of the question. And Glorfindel would shake his head in silent exasperation and mumbling something about ’’brick-headed Istari’’ under his breath, clearly aiming his anger against Radagast, who had done every possible thing to make the youngling truly helpless.
’’’Twas the only sensible thing from him to bring the boy here’’, the ancient Elf told Elrond, Celebrían and Erestor during one of their concerned conversations about Lindir’s fate. ’’He would not stand a chance in the outside world, not even in peacetime. He would be in need of protection all his life, unless he gets over his fear and disgust towards weapons.’’
Remembering this, Erestor sighed and left his lonely watchpost to return to his work. The people were about to return from the harvest, and there was a merry feast to be hold in the Great Hall of Elrond’s house that needed careful preparations. And after the feast, there would be a sacred ritual to perform, with the celebratory dance in the moonlight; and after that there would be singing and tale-telling in the Hall of Fire; for this was the ever of the enderi, the three middle days of the seasonal year, when all work ceased and songs and wine and merriment filled day and night, ere the lasse-lanta (leaf-fall), the season of fading began.
There was much work for Erestor to do, and he was truly exhausted when finally the silver bells of the house chimed, calling Elrond’s household and the guests of honour to the dining hall. There were no outside guests in these days, save a tall, broad-shouldered Elf, wearing the silvery green tunic and soft grey cloak of Lórien. His long, ash blond hair was artfully braided away from his face and held together by silver clasps, wrought in the shape of autumn leaves.
Erestor recognized Haldir of Lórien, whom he had known since the end of the Second Age, the Galadhrim being one of the lead archers of King Amdír who had ruled the Golden Wood at that time. Now he served the Lady Galadriel, to Erestor’s slight dismay – though Haldir himself liked to say that he mostly served the Golden Wood and its people. The Lórien Elf was Erestor’s senior by several centuries, but still young in Elven terms, though his broad features made him look older. Erestor liked him, and even more did he like Haldir’s brothers, playful Rúmil and shy Orophin, whom he met once while visiting Lórien on some errand, given him by Elrond.
To make for the guests more room on Elrond’s side, his children were now seated among the household, and Erestor let himself relax a little, seeing that Elladan and Elrohir put Lindir between the two of them, where he would feel safe among all these strangers.
When everyone was seated, Elrond and Celebrían rose from their seats to invoke the blessings of the Valar, as it had been custom among the Eldar ever since the first High-Elves set foot in the Blessed Realm. They raised their goblets and spoke as if with one voice:
Come to us from the Earth's four quarters,
Earth and Air and Fire and Water,
Bring your gifts to our home,
With the blessings of Manwë, Lord of Winds,
With the blessigns of Yavanna, Giver of Fruits,
With the blessings of Aurín Maiden of Fire,
With the blessings of Ulmo, Lord of Waters
Let us bring them in.(5)
’’So be it!’’, the guests answered with one voice, and the feast began.
All the fruits of the Earth were represented, and the fine bread, made from the new flour, and the grapes that were brought in during that very afternoon, and the first bottle of the new feywine made in the last lairë(6).It was fresh and deceivingly strong, and Erestor devoured it very slowly, not wanting to get drunk, for he had to take part in the upcoming ritual – a part which included some ritual fighting, too, so he had to remain sober, at least for the time being.
After the meal they all left the house, and Erestor hurried forward to the Place of Festival, ahead of everyone else, to prepare for the other celebrant’s arrival. When they, too, arrived, trying to enter into the presence of the ancient trees, he raised both his hands in a forbidding gesture – for he was playing the role of the Corn Lord, the King of Yávië, and it was his right to deny them entrance.
He raised his hands and spoke in a clear, strong voice:
By my right as Kind, I deny you entrance.
Those of Lairë, keep your distance;
Your time has past,
Here Yávië still holds fast,
Here no Quellë(7) yet has come to pass.
The circle of celebrants opened and gave way to Haldir, who – as the guest of honour – was offered the part of the Oak Lord, King of the fading season, which all found very appropriate. For who else could have been more fitting for it than a Galadhrim?
The Lórien Elf came forth to challenge the Corn Lord to battle for the right to enter the trees, speaking the ancient words:
Your rival, Corn Lord, does issue challenge.
Your time is past, our right I revenge.
For our right to enter I shall fight,
And change shall come, as day to night.
The time-honoured challenge did have some strange undertones this year, for all these seasonal rituals had originally come from the Wood-Elves, often looked down at by the Eldar; it was the influence of Celebrían, daughter of the last great Sindarin king in Middle-earth that they were celebrated in Imladris at all. That was why the words were spoken in Sindarin, not in Quenya, save the names of the seasons.
Erestor appreciated the irony of the situation with a nod and spoke in answer:
Enter then this grove, and fight,
This challenge is yours by right.
The whole community entered the grove under the gigantic oak, called the Tree lord by Imaldris’ folk, and Erestor and Haldir performed the ritual fight with long, polished wooden staffs, the ancient weapon of Elves ere they were taught to work with metals by Aulë. Though a ritual issue, Erestor was determined to give Haldir a good fight nonetheless, albeit he knew he could stand no chance against the older, stronger, more experienced Lórien Elf. While he seldom had the chance to practice his weapons’ skills, Haldir, captain of Lórien’s border guards, had remained a warrior through all those years, and would have beaten him, even if the ritual had not demanded from him to lose.
Still, he tried everything to make Haldir his victory costly, and even won the upper hand for a while (no doubt mostly because Haldir was surprised by his vehemence), but eventually the Lórien Elf got hold of him and forced him down.
’’Yield, Corn Lord’’, he said, panting. ’’Your time is past.’’
Erestor had a hard time to breath, too; a sudden feeling of anger filled his heart about being beaten, more so when he saw the slight disappointment on Lindir's young face. Though the boy was properly taught about the nature of the ritual, it still seemed to displease her that his tutor had lost.
Erestor shook his head to cast these unbecoming thoughts away and remainded himself the ritual words he had to speak.
I return where Yávië still holds fast.
For now you have your place of Anor,
By fighting me, you think you have won,
But fighting me shall carry its cost
And beating me, you still have lost.
At that, Haldir let Erestor up; he gave Lindir an encouraging smile, sounded the horn of tree-bark that was reached him, and stalked out of the grove. Behind the oak, he took off the cloak of the Corn Lord and now, that his part in the ritual was done, rejoined the festivities, taking the place that Lindir faithfully kept free for him.
Elrond now came forth, leading Arwen by the hand, who was clad in twilight grey and moonlight silver; and Haldir knelt before her, and Arwen crowned him with a wreath of autumn leaves and spoke:
My lord, I great you as Maiden of Twilight.
I welcome you and the gift that you bring might.
May your reign be pleasant and fruitful and logn
Against the cold of Hrívië(8) may it hold strong.
Then Arwen brought Haldir up to Celebrían who sat upon a throne carved from a mighty tree-trunk under the oak and presented him and spoke:
Mother, here I
bring our new lord;
The King of Yávië is beaten and forth.
Celebrían rose and raised her hand in the ancient gesture of blessing. Her clear, ringing voice filled the lighting, and there was a power in it that rarely could be felt from the ever-friendly, soft-speaking Lady of the Valley.
Daughter, in your judgement I trust;
And you, we all know, are true and just.
Let us now embrace the joy of Middle Days,
While the waning Sun in our midst still stays.
Glorfindel, the Master of the Festival, blew his horn, and at this sign Elrohir and Lindir, who were given the honour to make the music to the moonlight dance, brought their instruments forth and began to play. Elrond and Celebrían opened the Dance of Twilight, as always, followed by Arwen and Haldir, then all the others on the lighting joined in, forming several circles, one inside another, moving gracefully in opposite directions around the giant oak like the twirling rings of maelstrom, first slowly then with a quickening speed, gliding upon the now-yellow grass along each other like a light wind, barely touching, and yet exchanging feather-light, fleeting kisses on cheeks or lips when coming side by side woith a friend or a lover or somebody who could become one.
After the Dance every one returned to the house, trying to find a good place in the Hall of Fire, for as on all major feasts, singing and tale-telling and merriment was to come. More of the strong, sweet feywine was brought, this time the older one, and large plates with piles of seed cake in honey, a favourite in Imladris. Erestor made sure that Lindir was safely seated aside Arwen, then he retreated to his usual spot, in the shadow of a huge pillar, where he could watch and listen, without being watched.
The Lord of the Valley himself opened the nightly festivities by sitting down on his customary place, preparing to play his silver-stringed, swan-shaped harp, masterfully crafted in Lindon more than a whole Age earlier, by the skilled hands of Círdan’s craftsmen. Elrond was known of his musical skills, having been taught by the greatest singer of the Noldor, yet he rarely performed in public, for the memories of his tutor were stained with darkness and pain. Yet on major feasts he let himself be persuaded sometimes into playing, mostly by Celebrían, who loved to listen to his music.
On his side a tall, proud woman stood, dark-haired and grey-eyed, her elegant, angular face marred by multiple scars of old injuries and deep lines of old grief and sorrow: Fíriel(9), one of the very few survivors of Tol Sirion, the city of Elrond’s childhood, destroyed by the maddened sons of Fëanor. Her tale was a bitter one, even more so than Elrond’s own, for she had lost her entire family by the hands of the Kinslayers, including her children, one of whoom had barely been born at that time. It was a wonder in itself that she survived at all, to be found by Gil-galad’s people, burnt beyond recognition, most of her bones broken from having srpung from the roof of her burning house, more dead than alive. (10)
Still, by sheer willpower she survived and was brought to Gil-galad’s court and there she slowly recovered, albeit the burn marks and scars had not completely faded from her marred skin. Her strength and healing skills impressed the High King greatly, and though she was of low birth, he kept her in his court, where they always had need of a skilled healer, and even made her his consort for a while – til Elrond came to Lindon.
Regardless of Fíriel being considerably older than the young Half-Elf, the two survivors of Sirion became close friends and even occasional lovers, ere Elrond would become involved with the High King himself. Fíriel felt no jealousy, nor fell it har for her to retreat, for her affair with Gil-galad was a matter of comfort and convenience, and she could very well go on without it.
The three of them remained friends, but when Elrond left Gil-galad’s court to bould the safe haven of Imladris, Fíriel followed his summoning and joined his household which at that time contained Glorfindel only. For quite some time she had been Elrond’s consort and the highly respected head of healers in the valley. She even followed him to the Battle upon Dagorlad, treating the wounded regarldess of her own safety, and some said that Elrond would not have survived withnessing the horrible death of Gil-galad by Sauron’s hand without her help.
It was Fíriel, too, who had helped Elrond raising Erestor when he was brought to Imladris as a young elfling, scared out of his mind and grief-stricken beyond comfort. Yet in spite of their very similar fate, they never came close, for Fíriel’s hatred against the House of Fëanor ran very deep, and though she felt pity for the boy and treated him fairly, she could never fell aught but despise towards any one whose family served that House, even though Celebrimbor had no part in the destruction of her home.
Erestor understood that and did not press the matter – he had little love for the proud but hard and bitter woman himself, and no-one could have replaced his own mother anyway. Sometimes he yearned to hear Nimuial’s gentle laughter again, her merry songs that made the darkness of the night free of any fear, to feel her soft touch upon his face. His memories of his parents were fading, no matter how desperately he tried to hold onto them; those of his mother even more than those of his father, and this pained him greatly. But at least he had found a new home, thank to Elrond, and even if Fíriel liked him not, she was always fair and honest to him.
Now Fíriel came forth, and while Elrond handled his harp masterfully, she sang in her strong, crystal clear voice an ancient song, one that was brought back from the Blessed Realm before heer birth – one that the two of them had often sung in Gil-galad’s court. The yougner Elves listened to it with interest, but in the deep eyes of Glorfindel, who had seen the undying light of Valinor that was no more, there lay sorrow, fathomless and ever-lasting like the longing of Elves after the Sea.
Man cenuva fánë cirya
métima hrestallo círa,
i fairi nécë
ringa súmaryassë
ve maiwi yaimië?
Man tiruva fána cirya,
wilwarin wilwa,
ëar-celumessen
rámainen elvië
ëar falastala,
winga hlápula
rámar sisílala,
cálë fifírula?
Man hlaruva rávëa súrë
ve tauri lillassië,
ninqui carcar yarra
isilmë ilcalassë,
isilmë pícalassë,
isilmë lantalassë
ve loicolícuma;
raumo nurrua,
undumë rúma?
Man cenuva lumbor ahosta
Menel acúna
ruxal' ambonnar,
ëar amortala,
undumë hácala,
enwina lúmë
elenillor pella
talta-taltala
atalantië mindonnar?
Man tiruva rácina cirya
ondolissë mornë
nu fanyarë rúcina,
anar púrëa tihta
axor ilcalannar
métim' auressë?
Man cenuva métim' andúnë?
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
End notes:
(For fanatics ony – otherwise simply skip them. I promise the next part wird be more exciting, with Elrohir getting drunk and Elladan getting horny and Erestor getting laid, and poor Lindir… well, you just will have come back and take a look.)
1. yávië = the 54-day-long autumn season
2. mettarë = the last day of the seasonal year; it closes the stirring season
3. yestarë = the first day of the seasonal year, introduces the spring season
4. This is the Quenya translation of ’’A Elbereth Gilthoniel’’, found on the Mellonath Daeron linguistical website
5. The whole Endari Festival was created more or less loosely based on Juniper’s pagan rituals (different ones), found on her website called ’’A Sacred Place in the Wood Between the Worlds’’. I did not copy any of these particular rituals, only mixed up a few of her chants to create new stanzas, with the names of the Valar inserted. I know it’s crude, but it was the best I could do.
6. lairë = the 72-day-long summer season
7. quellë = the 54-day-long fading season
8. hrívie = the 72-day-long winter season
9. Fíriel is only mentioned by Tolkien as the singer of a particular song that is therefore called ’’The Song of Fíriel. I found the name pretty, so I took it for the character.
10. Those who have read ’’A Little Might Be Thought’’ by Deborah, would surely remember this particular scene.
The translation of the song:
(This is not the actual ’’Fíriel’s Song’’, but something called The Markirya Poem. I chose it because I found that it would fit the life in Lindon. The poem and liguistical references to it can be found on the Ardalambion page – deep bows to Mr. Fauskanger)
Who shall see a white ship leave the last shore, the pale phantoms in her cold bosom like gulls wailing?
Who shall heed a white ship, vague as a butterfly, in the flowing sea on wings like stars, the sea surging, the foam blowing, the wings shining, the light fading?
Who shall hear the wind roaring like leaves of forests; the white rocks snarling in the moon gleaming, in the moon waning, in the moon falling a corpse-candle; the storm mumbling, the abyss moving?
Who shall see the clouds gather, the heavens bending upon crumbling hills, the sea heaving, the abyss yawning, the old darkness beyond the stars falling upon fallen towers?
Who shall heed a broken ship on the black rocks under broken skies, a bleared sun blinking on bones gleaming in the last morning?
Who shall see the last evening?
Chapter 4: The Eve of Enderi – Part Two
[The first day of Enderi, in the year 532 of the Third Age]
After the opening song there were many more, ancient hymns and old lays and even newer, merrier songs alike, and there was music without singing as well (Elrohir and Lindir, too, were asked to prove their skills once more), and more of the sweet feywine was consumed, while the evening grew old and the stars of Varda lit up on the dark velvet of the sky like tiny diamonds.
The Lord and the Lady of the Valley took their leave rather early, strolling out of the Hall of Fire holding hands and with a dreamy smile on their faces. Haldir followed suit shortly thereafter, lacing his arms with Fíriel, whom he had known for hundreds of years, and the glittering of their eyes revealed that a passionate reunion was to come.
Erestor felt drained. The preparations had kept him busy all day, and now he felt the aches of the fight with Haldir, too. Had his stupid pride not gotten the better of him, he would probably feel less miserable right now, he guessed, but being beaten before the eyes of his young charge without putting up a good fight was out of question. He had a respectable image to keep uphold, after all.
’’Any offers for the night?’’, a familiar voice asked and Elladan, wearing the same richly-embroided robes as the rest of his family (including Erestor himself), sat down next to him, without asking for an invitation. Not that he needed one, though, old friends as they were, albeit not particularly close ones, despite the few short seasons when they had shared a bed.
Erestor shook his head. He was truly much too tired for Elladan’s teasing right now. ’’None.’’
He had not taken part in the merry dallying of his fellow Elves for several seasons by now – ever since the task of young Lindir’s tutoring had been entrusted upon him.
’’Want one?’’, Elladan asked casually. Erestor raised a sceptic eyebrow.
’’You are without a bedmate on Enderi’s Eve? How unusual! No mortal Men visiting Imladris lately?’’
Elladan’s preference of mortal lovers had been a matter of never-ending gossip in the valley, ever since he had reached maturity – and a serious cause of worry for his parents, who feared that the strong lure of mortal blood in his veins would make him choose untimely and without proper consideration.
’’None that I would lie with’’, Elladan shrugged, placing a questioning hand upon Erestor’s thigh, rather near to his hip. The seneschal sighed.
’’Elladan… this would do no good, for either of us. We tried it already, and it worked not.’’
’’I ask not of you to pledge yourself to me’’, Elladan replied, ’’nor do I intend to announce my undying love for you. I just would hate to lie alone in a night like this. Regardless of its end, we did have a good time together, and I would very much like to taste the sweetness of the passion we once shared.’’
He raised his hand, cupped Erestor’s face and kissed him on the mouth. Erestor sighed and gave in to the gentle pressure , opening his mouth under Elladan’s, letting the younger Elf deepen the kiss. It felt so good to be wanted again. Though they never had truly been in love, he sometimes missed the passionate encounters with Elladan that left him sore for days afterwards.
Elrond’s eldest had a sort of almost mortal roughness in his demeanor, and he certainly was not the gentlest of lovers, but lying with him always made Erestor feel alive, more alive than he had ever felt since the destruction of his old home. Sometimes he asked himself whether to lie with mortal Men would feel the same.
’’Admit it’’, Elladan murmured, breaking the kiss for a moment and sliding his hand even higher upon Erestor’s thigh, ’’you need this. You need me tonight… need to be ravished. You have lain alone in your bed for far too long.’’
Which was true, of course. Unbound Elves usually dallied freely and seldom lay alone, less so during the great feasts of seasonal turnings which they celebrated not with music and dance only but with much love and passion as well. Most of them had more or less constant lovers, though these dalliances rarely lasted longer than a few decades – by very young Elves even less than that. The solitary life Erestor led most over the time was a cause of bewilderment among the residents of the dale, and even one of a little concern for the Lord of Imladris, who still kept a close eye on the well-being of his foster son.
Erestor sighed again and let himself be pulled to his feet. He would go with Elladan tonight, and reason be damned. It will do him good to lay down all his worries and responsibilities, if for this one night only, and simply enjoy what life in this fair valley could offer.
Wrapping arms around each other’s waists, they left the Hall of Fire and retreated to Erestor’s bedchamber, kissing passionately and exchanging gentle touches all the way long, and after shrugging off their confining ceremonial robes, the young seneschal surrendered control to his once-and-again lover, finding great relief and freedom In Elladan’s harsh, demanding lovemaking.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Neither of them noticed the two pairs of eyes that watched them from a nearby balcony. The clear, grey eyes of Elrohir were gently amused – he, too, had had his share of tumbling in the hay with Erestor during an autumn seasonal feast a long time ago, but being more drawn to the fair maidens of their kin, he soon sought out other bedmates.
Elladan had been more persistent, never letting a good challenge unanswered, but he could not keep their foster brother too long, either. Mayhap it had been better thus; Erestor was a deeply wounded soul, not the right target for their youthful brashness, though he seemed to enjoy Elladan’s somewhat rough love play at times.
Like right now.
He glanced at the youngster who watched his tutor’s playful wrestling with Elladan, then his complete surrender, with wide-eyed shock.
’’He… loves him?’’, Lindir asked unbelievingly, bewilderment and maybe a little jealousy in his soft, hesitant voice.
Now it was Elrohir’s turn to be shocked. Had the boy just uttered his very first words, ever since he was brought here? Seeing Erestor give himself to Elladan must have shaken him badly, indeed. Elrohir felt pity for the child.
Detecting the weakness of those who we used to look up with respect is a hard thing, indeed, he thought with mild amusement, more so when the person in question is the solitary and so very respectable Erestor.
But out loud he only said: ’’You mean Erestor? Nay, he is not in love with Elladan; nor is Elladan in love with him..’’
’’B-but they… they are…’’
’’Making love, aye’’, Elrohir nodded, taking pity of the tormented boy, ’’but that means little. This is our way, the way of all Elves: to dally merrily in our youth, both with male and female lovers; to learn and experience the many paths of love, til we find the one we bond with for eternity. After that we stay faithful to our chosen one, here on Earth and beyond the Sea, even in the Halls of Mandos.’’
Lindir only seemed half-listening to him watching the scene in Erestor’s bedchamber with growing bewilderment.
’’Can… can I do this, too?’’, he asked, blushing slightly. Elrohir smiled.
’’Not yet, little one. You have to reach maturity first, ere you are allowed to consort.’’
Lindir digested this for a moment, still not able to turn his eyes away from the two lovers in the other chamber, kissing passionately – among other things.
’’Is this… does it feel good?’’ he inquired innocently. Elrohir grinned.
’’Oh, it does’’, he said, then added; ’’Want to try?’’
Lindir nodded eagerly, and Elrohir reached out, turning him away from the sight and towards himself, running the back of his fingers down the boy’s alluringly soft cheek, along his slightly pointed jawline and the gentle curve of his neck, mesmerized by the softness of his skin.
’’One day, you shall break all hearts in this valley’’, he whispered, ’’for you are as beautiful as Ithil’s kiss upon the surface of still waters…’’
He leaned in and kissed Lindir, carefully and gently, trying not to frighten him. Lindir stood petrified at first while Elrohir playfully nipped at his lower lip; the as-yet-unknown sensation of soft lips and hard teeth sent spikes of fire through his whole body, and a strange heat began to pool in his belly.
Elrohir stepped back and smiled into the dreamy eyes of the youngling. ’’Liked that?’’
Lindir blushed again and nodded hesitantly. Elrohir raised an eyebrow.
’’More?’’, he asked, and Lindir nodded again, more certain this time.
Elrohir wrapped his arms around the narrow frame and rubbed his cheek against Lindir’s, enjoying its softness, while the youngling hesitantly slipped his slender arms around his neck. Then he kissed Lindir again, with more passion, and this time the boy slowly began to react, soft lips parting under his, letting him enter that sweet mouth.
The sweetness and softness of that kiss was Elrohir’s undoing. All good intentions were washed away by the sharp, almost painful wave of desire that flooded his mind, already fogged by the considerable amount of feywine he had devoured during the feast. He deepened the kiss, his hands roaming Lindir’s lithe body, sliding down the narrow back and squeezing more intimate flesh firmly, almost painfully, while the long, slim fingers of the boy threaded through his hair. He pressed Lindir against one of the pillars framing the entrance of the balcony, his body plastered along the length of the boy, their legs entwined as they stood and kissed with growing passion.
’’I believe ’tis past our young friend’s bedtime’’, a sober voice jerked them out of the dense fog of their lust-filled brains.
Glorfindel stood in the other entrance, his appearance flawless as always, his fathomless eyes starring at Elrohir with stern disappointment. Elrond’s son could not surpress a quiet groan. Being interrupted in this heated moment was bad enough, but being caught by Glorfindel, none less, while he was about to get a taste of the frobidden fruit, was even worse.
’’You are drunk’’, the ancient Elf continued evenly. ’’Go to your chambers and sleep out your haze. We shall speak of this when you are yourself again.’’
Elrohir gave a slight bow and leaved hurriedly, ashamed of his own actions. He would never have approached an under-aged boy in this manner, had the deceivingly sweet wine not clouded his judgement already. Mayhap he would be able to set things straight with Glorfindel alone, without letting his parents know – if he was very, very lucky. For he had no doubts what his father – and even more so his mother – would have to say about this.
Lindir watched him leave with wide eyes, then he looked at Glorfindel, clearly frightened and confused.
’’Was that… wrong?’’, he asked hesitantly.
Glorfindel’s brows shot up in amazement. Apparently, Elrohir had achieved something with his foolish actions. At least the boy was speaking now. With real words, not just through the protecting veil of music.
’’Aye, little one’’, he answered gently, ’’’twas wrong. Elrohir should never have touched you that way.’’
’’But Elladan… and Master Erestor…’’, Lindir whispered, devastated that he would be denied something all the others were allowed to do. Something very enjoyable, as it seemed to him.
’’They are both grown adults’’, Glorfindel smiled, patting the sad young face affectionatedly. ’’Be not troubled, little one. Your time shall come – but right now, you still are too young for such pastimes. You still have much to learn.’’
’’I was learning’’, Lindir pointed out with child-like honesty, and Glorfindel shook his head in quiet laughter.
’’There are other, more pressing matters that demand your attention’’, he said, amused; ’’and the better you focus on those, the sooner you can get what you desire.’’
’’But how should I focus when I burn up in the inside’’, Lindir asked with innocent confusion. ’’My whole body is in flame…’’
Glorfindel shook his head in regret. This was to be expected, to tell the truth. While Lindir’s one-sided education by Aiwendil and his friends would made it considerably longer for him to reach legal maturity than any average young Elf would need, his body was more than ready to explore the ways of merriment and sweet, casual loving his generation indulged in so readily. What was that foolish old wizard thinking, keeping him in a child’s state of mind, while his body was that of a man already?
’’Come with me’’, he said, stretching out a hand to the boy, ’’I knew the best cure for inner burning. Swimming in the river would cool you down in no time.’’
* * * * * * * * * * * *
In the next morrow Erestor woke up late, but it mattered little, since this was his day off. Elladan was still asleep beside him – truly asleep, with his eyes closed, as mortal Men did, but Erestor’s sense of duty had already awakened, and he fought a hard fight between his well-loved body that lured him to stay in bed (and have another turn of last night’s pleasant events) and his guilty consciousness that sternly reminded him that in the waves of their passion he had completely forgotten about Lindir and urged him to go and look for the boy.
Finally the latter won the upper hand, and he leaned over to Elladan, placing a soft, lingering kiss upon the slightly parted lips of his once-and-again lover to wake him.
’’You have to go’’, he murmured regretfully; ’’we both have to go. I must look for Lindir.’’
Elladan arched into the kiss; then yawned. ’’I shall wait for you here. The boy was with Elrohir yestereve. I think they were both more than a little drunk. At least Elrohir was.’’
’’What?!’’, Erestor jumped off the bed near to panic, knowing all to well what strong wine could do to Elrohir at times. That was how Elrond’s second son ended up in his bed once, shortly after reaching legal age.
He frantically put on some of the clothes that lay around in disheveled heaps on the floor from the last evening, not even caring whether they were his own or Elladan’s, and rushed down bare-footed the floor to Lindir’s chambers that were fairly near to his own. With all the strength he could maintain, he restrained himself from bursting through the front door, approaching the youngling’s bedchamber from the balcony instead, where it stood open to the gardens, moving as quietly as a ghost.
He peered into the still shadowy room and was relieved to see Lindir lying on his side in the large bed, tucked in safely and alone, long, pale hair spread over the pillow like a silvery halo of moonlight. He seemed to sleep peacefully, even with his eyes closed – something Erestor had noticed by him earlier. Mayhap it as a custom he took over from Aiwendil – or he was afraid of the waking dreams. It happened to very young Elves sometimes.
Still, he seemed to be unharmed, and Erestor decided that a short, thankful prayer to the Lady of the Stars was in order. Elbereth seemed to smile down at the boy beningly – otherwise things could have turned out badly for him – and for Erestor, too.
He moved to turn away when a strong, slender hand touched his arm and stopped him. He needed not to look back in order to recognize Glorfindel, for as all by Vanyar, the ancient Elf’s pale skin had a slight golden hue; and he still wore the ring of his House, that of the Golden Flower, upon his finger. He tilted his head on one side, nodding towards the garden, and Erestor retreated from Lindir’s balcony to speak with him, without waking the boy.
The ancient Elf gave him a stern glare, though he was not without compassion, either. Still, this was a matter they had to speak about earnestly.
’’A little late have you remembered your duties as the boy’s guardian’’, he said in a low voice. Erestor hung his head in shame.
’’I am aware of that, Master Glorfindel – and I deeply regret my failing. I let myself be… distracted, and there is no excuse for that.’’
’’True’’, Glorfindel agreed, ’’though I can understand the nature of your… distraction. You have been lonely for a long time; too long for an Elf of your age – and ’tis hard to withstand Elladan once he has put his mind to seducing someone.’’
’’You would not let yourself distract in this manner’’, Erestor murmured.
’’Mayhap not’’, Glorfindel laughed, ’’But compare yourself not to me! I am one of the oldest beings on Earth, while you have hardly begun to live. Also, I am less fallable to youthful charms, for I have given my heart for eternity a very long time ago, and though I could not have whom my heart desired, I never yearned for the touch of an other lover.’’
Erestor reamined in guilty silence for some time. He knew he failed Elrond, who proved enormous trust towards him while giving him the responsibility over Lindir’s life, and it pained him to have failed, for the Lord of Imladris was still his childhood hero, whom he loved and admired like a father.
’’My Lord shall be greatly disappointed to hear this’’, he murmured in defeat.
’’He needs not to learn of it’’ Glorfindel offered, watching him with detached curiosity, whether he would fail this particular test or not. ’’There was no harm done; I have come in time to break them apart.’’
But Erestor only shook his head, affirming the older Elf’s trust in his straightforwardness.
’’Nay, I shall not lie to my benefactor. The failure was mine; and so shall be the punishment.’’
’’He might take the boy from your care and give him to an other tutor’’, Glorfindel remainded him.
’’I know’’, Erestor sighed, ’’and it would sadden me, for tutoring this child brought a light into my life I was not hoping for. But would that be my Lord’s decision, I shall respect it. Mayhap it will be better for the boy to come to a guardian who is less… distracted by his own sorrows.’’
Glorfindel smiled. Truth to be told, he liked the younger Elf very much and was moved by his honesty and responsible demeanor. Sure, Erestor had made a mistake by letting young Lindir unwatched during a merry night like the Eve of Enderi, but it also brought some unexpected results.
’’Have faith’’, he said, ’’for no ill came from your slight lapse of watchfulness. More than that: something unhoped-for happened: Lindir began to speak again.’’
He waited, but the joyous reaction he expected never came.
’’What ails you?’’, he asked with a frown. ’’Was it not what we have been waiting for all these seasons?’’
’’It was’’, replied Erestor sadly, ’’but I was hoping to be the one who makes him speak again.’’
’’Well, you were’’, Glorfindel commented drily. ’’He uttered the first words when he saw you wrestling with Elladan on the bed.’’
’’O Elbereth!’’, Erestor paled visibly, ’’he saw us?’’
’’He did; yet it was not a bad thing, I deem’’, answered Glorfindel thoughtfully. ’’First, the shock of it brought forth his speech again. Second, it made him realize that he is no child any more.’’
’’But he is…’’
’’Legally, yes, but his body is that of a man grown. Consider that he is roughly of the same age as the Lady Arwen – would you treat her as a child?’’
Erestor shook his head glumly. ’’Nay… but Lindir is so much like a child that I always forget about his true age.’’
’’Tis easy to forget’’, Glorfindel agreed, ’’but we have to consider the ramifications of it.’’
’’I know’’, Erestor sighed; ’’I shall have to watch him more closely from now on – if the Lord Elrond leaves him in my care at all.’’
’’I believe he will’’, said Glorfindel, ’’but watching Lindir like a jailor is not the right path to walk. It would make him feel cornered, trapped. You should show more trust in his judgement.’’
’’How could I? After what almost happened…’’
’’It took him by surprise. He shall be better shielded the next time.’’
’’Elbereth!’’, groaned Erestor. ’’How I have hoped to find some solace, even some merriment during the days of Enderi! Now all I am about to have is a long conversation about the bees and the birds… truly, ’tis the last thing I need right now.’’
’’Then leave it’’, Glorfindel smiled. ’’Go to Elladan and enjoy the days of Enderi with him – you sorely need it. I shall have a talk with young Lindir – and with Elrohir, too. He is not a bad one… even reasonably responsible for his age, unless he is drunk. But he will develop a tolerance against wine in another century or so.’’
Erestor hesitated. He truly wanted to return into Elladan’s arms and forget about his worries for a while. On the other hand, though... ’’I have to tell the Lord Elrond what happened’’, he murmured miserably.
’’Let that be my concern’’, Glorfindel patted his back in a fatherly manner. ’’I shall do all the talking. You go and have some merriment. You still are too young to brood all over Enderi. Enjoy your youth as long as it lasts.’’
Erestor half-heartedly resisted a little more, but secretly he was relieved over the chance to simply be himself one more time. It happened far too rarely in the recent years. He was of an age when most Elves only began to take over responsible positions; he had filled his for more than five hundred years, and sometimes it lasted heavily on his shoulders.
Giving in to Glorfindel’s gentle reassurances, he returned to his bedchamber and unceremoniously fell onto the bed beside Elladan with a thud.
’’Are things going well?’’ Elladan asked, nibbling on his shoulder absently. ’’You came back very quickly… not that I would complain.’’
Erestor nodded. ’’Glorfindel…’’, he murmured as an explanation and rolled over to face his once-and-again lover. ’’I have the day off. Hope you made no other plans.’’
’’Only such that involve ravishing you some more’’, replied Elladan laughing, and any coherent conversation ceased at that point.
* * * * * * * * * * *
End notes:
This chapter now endeth here, too. We shall see young Lindir and the others again in the next century.
I know, all what has been described here would not fit in with what the Great Maker might have envisioned about the private life of Elves. But since it does not contradict any important canon facts, I chose to give them some fun. <g>