"Good morning, Faelon. I see that you are punctual as always. Elrond's given me the plans for the additional wing he wants to build on the Last Homely House, and I'd like you to look over them. We may have to negotiate with Mirkwood and Lórien for some of the materials." Faelon nodded and accepted the sheaf of papers which Erestor laid in his hands He took a seat at the nearest table in the large library and spread out the documents in the most practical arrangement.
"Anything else?" he asked, looking up when he realised Erestor hadn't moved.
"Yes. I need a scribe for a meeting with Elrond this afternoon. Can you do that?"
Faelon nodded. "What time?"
"Directly after midday meal."
"I won't be late." Erestor half-smiled in satisfaction.
"One more thing."
"Yes?"
"The inventory lists I set you to look over; I rechecked them yesterday afternoon. You overlooked the unexplained loss of nearly fifty arrows from the weapons stores."
Faelon swallowed uncomfortably. Erestor did not tolerate mistakes. The younger elf shook his head in denial. "But I looked over those lists four times! I'm sure I didn't miss anything." Erestor did not seem impressed by his protests. He realised he hadn't a chance of winning if it became an argument. "I'm sorry," he apologised. "I've been rather...distracted lately."
"Distracted?" Erestor repeated, one eyebrow raised disapprovingly. Faelon didn't answer the enquiry; he found it uncomfortable enough at times talking to Erestor about the impersonal business of the management of Imladris, never mind his own personal problems. He certainly wasn't about to explain to the sober counsellor that, in spite of his rejection of that irritating young Silvan elf, Rúmil's face would not stop invading his thoughts.
"Aye...I will try to concentrate better today."
Erestor nodded and, seemingly mollified, left the younger elf to work. He seated himself at a nearby table, opened the old book he was carrying, and picking up quill, began to write on a piece of parchment lying next to it.
Faelon got to work; the chief adviser had been quite correct. Some of the timber Elrond wanted would have to be transported in from Lórien, which would require elves to supervise - he could manage that himself - and in these troubled times, an armed escort would be needed. Glorfindel would not be pleased when Faelon put in that request. The golden-haired Elda was always ruing the fact that he hadn't more scouts to send out on patrol as it was.
"Are you hungry?" Erestor asked suddenly, his soft but clear voice interrupting Faelon's concentration. "I was just about to fetch some refreshments; I could get something for you as well if you'd like. "
Faelon glanced out of the window, and realised with surprise that he'd been working for well over an hour. He was a little taken aback by Erestor's offer; he thought the counsellor was annoyed with him because of the inventory lists, so wasn't expecting such thoughtfulness, but nonetheless he composed himself quickly. "Yes, please, if you are getting something. A cup of fruit tea would be welcome, and perhaps - " he decided to indulge the sudden craving " - sweet bread with berry jam."
Erestor raised an eyebrow but said nothing, only nodding slightly in acknowledgement, and with his usual understated grace, glided out of the room.
Erestor set off towards the kitchens at a brisk walk. As he passed the library, another raven-haired elf emerged through the double doors, running a hand through tousled locks. Catching sight of Erestor, he fell into step beside the chief advisor. "Good morning," he said, glancing outside and frowning at an angry-looking cloud which hung sullenly above the horizon. "Although I daresay it will not remain that way for much longer."
"You may be right, Melpomaen," Erestor answered. "But I imagine the library will remain dry however much it may rain, and I doubt you would find yourself lacking in things to do were you to remain there should the weather continue to deteriorate."
"The maps which you asked me to update?" the younger elf asked rhetorically. Erestor nodded. "They are nearly ready, I promise. And I'm glad they are. I've spent long enough on them."
"I would not ask you to do all of them, but you have a much better eye for detail than your younger brother."
Melpomaen grinned. "I hope you're finding just as much work to keep Faelon occupied."
Erestor responded with raised eyebrows. "I would not like to think that he was becoming bored." He abruptly stopped, and turned around, explaining quickly, "I was heading towards the kitchens, but as we were talking, I seem to have walked straight past them."
"The kitchens? That was where I was heading as well. I need some refreshment before I face those maps again. I bet they have ripe plums just waiting for me."
"Faelon asked me to fetch fruit tea, and...sweet bread with berry jam."
Melpomaen laughed. "Did he? Berry jam, indeed - I thought he'd have grown out of that by now. He always used to love blackberries when he was an elfling. He'd come back in after playing outside in summer sometimes, and he'd be stained head to foot in purple from eating every one he saw."
"I'm pleased he doesn't turn up in my study in that state," Erestor remarked dryly.
"Oh, you should have seen him! He ruined several perfectly good tunics that way. Eventually, he persuaded Nana to let him grow his own bramble plant in one of the flowerbeds, and he looked after it as he would a treasured pet. She used to wonder why he couldn't just get a pony or a hound like any other elfling. It was so invasive, within a year it had choked most of the other plants in the bed, but he didn't seem too worried."
"So he ended up with an entire bed full of brambles?"
"Well, no. He cleared a little space where he grew elanor. Lady Celebrían gave him a plant once when he was very young, and he kept it flowering constantly from then until he reached majority." Melpomaen realised he was starting to ramble now, and seemed surprised Erestor had not yet told him to stop. When they reached the kitchens, Melpomaen's bet proved correct - the plums looked deliciously ripe and he happily walked off with a large bowlful. Erestor had to wait whilst his request was seen to.
The kitchen staff did not waste time, and the advisor soon had a steaming cup of fruit tea and a platter laden with light sweet bread for Faelon. He also had some more information about his protégé which he could relay to Rúmil.
Faelon found his eyes straying yet again to the young Silvan elf sitting across from him. This was ridiculous! He wasn't attracted to Rúmil! The idea was about as likely as his falling for one of the Dunedain chieftains Lord Elrond fostered from time to time. He forced himself to concentrate on transcribing the discussion taking place. Erestor insisted on a full written record of all important meetings in Imladris. Even at less crucial councils, he'd bring a scribe to take notes of the main points. From time to time, he leaned across and murmured a few words to Faelon: "Put that Haldir looked displeased when Glorfindel suggested that," or, "Add a note about that - I'll have to check if that can be done." He complied, writing in quick shorthand which could be copied up neatly later.
This was the last stage of discussions, a relatively simple matter of cementing patrol plans already agreed between Lórien and Imladris, and for Elrond and Erestor to calculate how soon Imladris could provision a group of elves for a trip of this length. Erestor seemed confident that everything could be dealt with, but Faelon could tell Glorfindel was unhappy.
Eventually, the golden-haired warrior confided to those present what was troubling him. "This orc band we're dealing with seems to have assembled from many small groups which have been hanging around Eregion for a year or more. Word from the patrols is that now several similarly small groups of orcs have been sighted at various places along the Bruinen. At the moment, the power in Imladris is easily strong enough to deter them from attacking, but were they to gather together as the Eregion band have done, they may dare an assault. I'm not happy leaving Imladris more or less unguarded."
"There is no need to leave Imladris completely unguarded." Glorfindel whirled in surprise when Erestor spoke up.
"Excuse me?"
"You appear to have vastly overestimated the number of Imladris elves required on this patrol. Certainly, meeting the orcs sooner, as you suggest, in the south, would normally be more prudent. I agree that with Lórien archers, we have the advantage if we strike at them in forest. But were we to allow them longer to track eastwards towards the mountains, the terrain would allow us to eliminate the orc band without a direct confrontation."
"How?" Glorfindel demanded. His face had set into a hard mask. Clearly, he was unhappy with having his decision challenged.
"Split our forces, and harry their flanks. We can drive them into the Vale of Uialos. We already know full well that the pass into the valley has been in danger for some time of being blocked by a rockslide. Were we to seal the way after their host had entered, they would have to track thirty miles to get out at the other end, and all uphill."
"Then what?" Glorfindel asked in a disinterested voice. "We may be able to pick half of them off with arrows, but after that?"
"After that, of course, we divert one of the tributaries of the Glanduin to re-flood the valley's dry river bed." Erestor made it sound as if it was the most obvious course of action.
"That can't be done!" Haldir protested. Faelon had seen him following the debate between the two Imladris elves with great interest. But even the marchwarden had not been as mesmerised as Rúmil. Faelon was merely glad the pen-neth had stopped gawking at him.
"Well...actually, it can," Glorfindel admitted.
"The Bruinen can be flooded, if necessary, to repel intruders from the west," Elrond explained mildly. "There is no reason why it couldn't be done again elsewhere." He did not elaborate further.
"It would be incredibly difficult!" Glorfindel protested. "A straightforward confrontation in the forests would be far simpler, and the chances of success are high if we use the tree cover."
"But the number of elves required is too large," Erestor replied patiently. "And your plan is more risky."
"Your plan involves procrastinating for several days while the orcs go east. In that time, they will be joined by other groups, and cause more trouble."
"Better to take many all at once; it saves you from having to send out smaller patrols later to clean up the scattered groups." Neither elf was shouting; both were speaking in deceptively light and civil tones, which Faelon thought simply added to the latent discord between them.
"Why don't we gain additional backup from King Thranduil in Mirkwood?" Glorfindel suggested suddenly. "That way, a unit of my best fighters could be left behind to defend Imladris, and the Mirkwood elves could add to our numbers on the sortie. In fact, then it would be feasible to take out this second band amassing nearby after neutralising the first. Everyone would be happy."
"Perhaps in your idyllic imagination," Erestor responded caustically. "But in the real world, the odds of King Thranduil even replying to our requests for aid are about the same as the odds of a regiment of dwarves offering their assistance!"
"Gentlemen, please," Elrond said placatingly. "Perhaps it's time to call a recess. Let us consider the suggestions overnight, and see if a compromise can be reached by tomorrow. Then perhaps we can listen to what the envoy from Lórien thinks may be best, as well." He glanced meaningfully at Haldir and Rúmil. "We seem to have all but neglected them whilst we compared the perceived merits and problems of our schemes, when, after all, Lórien is as much a part of this matter as Imladris." The stress on ‘we' clearly implied that the only parties involved were the chief advisor and the golden-haired seneschal, and both had the courtesy to look contrite. Well, a bit, anyway. The way Erestor raised his eyebrow at Glorfindel before apologising mildly to the Silvan elves suggested he, at least, was still not happy.
"Erestor? Erestor?" Glorfindel peered into the bathroom to find Erestor running a brush through his long hair - which appeared to have gone an even darker shade of black now it was wet - in front of the mirror. The counsellor had thrown on a thin silk robe after bathing, and it clung to his damp skin, highlighting every line of his slender, well-defined body. Glorfindel allowed himself a moment to admire his lover's beauty before a wicked grin spread across his face.
He tiptoed towards the bathing pool, which was still full of tepid, lavender-scented water and, leaning down towards it, scooped some up in his hand and splashed it at Erestor.
The counsellor turned and regarded the golden-haired elf balefully. But to Glorfindel's amazement, rather than coming out with some scathing comment criticising his lover for being so juvenile, Erestor narrowed his eyes deviously. Glorfindel wasn't sure whether he was still angry about the argument they'd had in the council meeting earlier. He had already forgiven Erestor; how could he not, when Erestor was so adorable? But his lover was difficult to read, and had a long memory and a prickly temper.
Erestor suddenly leaned towards the pool and, without warning, splashed twice as much water back at Glorfindel. The golden-haired Elda did not react; he was utterly taken aback by the contrast between the playful action and the terribly solemn expression on Erestor's face. "I am unhappy with your behaviour today," the counsellor declared very calmly. "And I think you need to experience some discipline."
Glorfindel's eyes widened. He was unsure what Erestor's idea of discipline might prove to consist of; though he had always loved Elrond's three children dearly, he had been a strict tutor with them and never tolerated misbehaviour in his lessons.
With a movement far faster than any elf who was merely a scholar had any right to make, Erestor tripped Glorfindel, pushed him to the floor and began to tickle the golden-haired warrior along his stomach and flanks. Glorfindel bit his lip at first, not wanting to show his weakness - he'd faced a Balrog for Elbereth's sake, he shouldn't be incapacitated by a bit of tickling! - but when he started to choke on his suppressed giggles, he had no choice but to release them out loud. "Erestor, daro!" he protested.
"I don't know about that. What's in it for me? You're in trouble, remember." As he spoke, Erestor finally showed some mercy and eased up on the tickling. His face remained perfectly serious and composed.
"I'll dedicate this entire evening to your pleasure," Glorfindel tried, leaning upwards to capture Erestor's mouth with his, teasingly sucking the counsellor's lower lip. Whatever response Erestor might have made never formed.
Glorfindel ran his tongue possessively round the inside of Erestor's teeth, enjoying the sensation of his lover's wet hair where it fell across his cheek and shoulders.
Eventually, Erestor placed firm hands on Glorfindel's shoulders and pushed him back down to the floor. "I accept your terms. So, did you come in the bathroom only to watch me - for several minutes - or was there another reason?"
"I didn't realise you'd noticed I was there..." Erestor shook his head in disbelief.
"This time, I wasn't absorbed in work, was I? So?"
"Actually," Glorfindel grinned. "I was going to ask whether you knew anything about my wardrobe."
"What about it?" The question was so convincingly innocent, Glorfindel was almost taken in and was about to apologise for ever suspecting the counsellor. Then he saw a ghost of a smile whisper briefly across the rose-coloured lips, and knew he was being played with - again.
"Well, you see, you may or may not realise that my aquamarine robes, and that lovely silver tunic with the plum coloured trim - you know, the one you like - have mysteriously gone missing. Can you throw any light on the situation?"
"I'm sure they're in safe hands," Erestor answered noncommittally.
"Oh, melamin, you really are impossible. I think I indulge you too often." He frowned. "How do you think Lord Elrond would react if several sets of his best clothes mysteriously disappeared from his wardrobe, and his lover seemed to know rather more about it than he'd say?" Glorfindel realised that his attempt at scolding was somewhat reduced in its overall impact by the fact that he was currently lying on his back on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor, and was being pinned there very firmly by the very person who was supposed to be at the receiving end of the telling-off. On top of which, Erestor's robe had only been belted at the waist and was coming open above the satin sash to reveal a glorious expanse of milky, smooth skin. Glorfindel would have liked nothing better at that moment on to cover the perfect body with tender, adoring kisses and licks. He forced his desire under control. "Does this have something to do with that business with Rúmil?"
Erestor blinked innocently. Glorfindel could no longer resist those wide, beautiful eyes, and with a deft movement, wriggled out of the dark haired elf's restraint so he could place butterfly kisses on both of them. His fingers slid deep into the masses of wet hair, and he drew back, holding Erestor's head pinned between his hands. "Well?" the warrior demanded, trying to feign sternness.
"Well..." Erestor repeated. "...I might have borrowed one or two of your outfits..."
"Why?" Glorfindel was now far more curious than annoyed. Erestor's taste in clothes differed wildly from his; where Glorfindel selected shades of azure, saffron and crimson, Erestor would go for black, charcoal, deep maroon - or at best, muted pastels. And besides, few of the Glorfindel's clothes would even fit Erestor; the advisor was too slender across the waist and shoulders.
"Will you be available to join the rest of the Last Homely House at dinner tonight?" Erestor said sweetly. Glorfindel nodded, thinking that his lover had hardly given an answer, but resigned himself to Erestor's characteristic evasiveness. "Ah, good."
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Chapter end notes: Translations:
daro - stop
melamin - my love
