Chapter Summary: In which Lindir attends breakfast and Elrond bleeds.
It was in the small hours of the night when Lindir stirred and, on realising that he had two more hours before he needed to prepare himself to leave for the shrine, he tried to return to sleep.
But sleep escaped him and the attentive gazes of the guards who were watching over him was distracting. So he sat up and slipped from the bed to go to the adjoining bathroom where he splashed water on his face to clear sleep out of his eyes.
One of his guards poked their head in through the doorway and looked at him curiously. 'You can sleep a little longer,' the other elf pointed out.
Lindir nodded. 'I know,' he said. He looked down and watched a droplet that had fallen from his chin send ripples through the water in the sink. 'But sleep escapes me.' Truth be told, he felt as if he had caught one of those headaches that sometimes affected Elrond.
'Should I call a servant to help you dress, then?' the guard asked.
Lindir shook his head. 'No, I would like to dress myself this morning,' he said. He trotted past the guard and back into the shadowed confines of his guest room.
Two hours later, he was escorted down to the breakfast room, which was positioned in an east facing room of the house. It was dark outside the windows, but inside, the lamps were lit and the room was illuminated in bright light.
There were places set at the table for both Glorfindel and Erestor, but neither of those elves were present. Lindir was ushered to a seat and after the butler, Neldor, had excused the lateness of the other two elves, he was told that he could help himself to any of the dishes that were spread before him.
Lindir had helped himself to some bread and was spreading it thickly with butter and honey when the door opened and Glorfindel entered, closely followed by Erestor. Both of them looked extremely tired, as if they had slept even less than Lindir.
'I have left the matter in the hands of my lord,' Erestor was saying. He looked frustrated. 'I do not feel prepared to choose the punishment of my own son. What he did was wrong, but I empathise with his situation.'
'Not that you show it,' Glorfindel muttered. Then he noticed Lindir sitting at the table and smiled brightly at him. 'Good morning, Lindir.'
Lindir inclined his head. He noticed, when Glorfindel turned to go to his seat, that Glorfindel's hair had been cut. The golden locks now only reached down to Glorfindel's waist. The violet section that he had seen the previous night had disappeared. Lindir's gaze shifted to Glorfindel's hands and he noticed that the limbs were still stained.
In Prince Erenion's house, Elrond was standing at his bedroom window, which stood open. On the windowsill sat a rather ruffled looking raven.
'Go on,' Elrond muttered. 'Go to Halmir.' He nudged the raven with the side of his hand and the creature gave an unhappy croak.
'I am tired,' it complained. 'Your directions are so vague and it is also barely light.'
Elrond sighed and gave it another nudge. When the raven again resisted his efforts to coax it out of the window, he turned away and wandered over to his bed. He sat down on the end and rubbed his face with his hands.
'Oh... what will I do?' he murmured. 'Prince Erenion does not want to be King, and to be quite truthful, I am glad that he does not want to take that role, considering his current condition. But... but what do I do now?' His hands dropped to his lap and he gazed gloomily at the wall in front of him.
'Should I claim the crown?' he asked. 'Should I become High King of the Noldor?'
Moments later, his face twisted with frustration and he raised clenched fists to his forehead. 'I do not want to be King,' he hissed. 'I need more time to think! I do not want to go back to The Island and listen to the whisperings of Gildor, Círdan, and Glorfindel. I do not want to stay here either. I despise this place!' He pressed his knuckles hard against his temples, so much so that he felt a headache coming on.
Oh, if only someone were here to sympathise with him. Elrond knew that he did not need a rational cost-benefit analysis of the situation. His own mind was all too proficient at that task. But some company, some non-judgemental sort of company, would help.
A laughing face appeared in his mind's eye. A face with loving eyes and a sweet smile. Elrond's face cleared. His hands relaxed and he dropped the limbs back to his lap.
'Someone like Lindir,' he muttered. He sighed. 'I am such a fool. If I had had the courage, we could already be lovers.' He sighed again, heavier this time.
The sound of flapping wings interrupting his thoughts. Elrond turned his head and looked at the window to observe the absence of the raven. A self-depreciating smile touched his lips and then, after a pause, he drew up the skirt of his nightshirt and flopped back onto the bed.
Lindir observed Neldor set a heavy casserole dish was down in the middle of the table. The butler removed the cover and a cloud of steam ascended from the watery contents. Lindir's eyes widened when he saw the violet colour of the juices surrounding the morsels within it.
Lord Glorfindel was busy talking with one of his servants, but Erestor, who was sitting opposite from Lindir, leaned forward to peer at the contents of the casserole dish. Then Erestor's gaze slid slowly to observe Glorfindel's violet hands. Lindir followed his gaze.
When Glorfindel looked around and met their dual gazes, he blinked. 'Is something wrong?' he asked. Lindir noticed him drop his hands beneath the tabletop, perhaps in an act of self-consciousness.
Erestor's gaze narrowed. 'Your hands are violet,' he said.
'Oh... oh you noticed,' Glorfindel said, looking awkward. He smiled weakly. 'I had an accident yesterday with some hagfish.'
Erestor's gaze slid back to the casserole dish. 'I was not aware that you cooked.'
'What?' Glorfindel leaned forward and peered at the contents of the dish. His face stiffened and he shot a sour look at Neldor who, to Lindir's surprise, flashed a smug smile in response.
'Why are these things on my breakfast table?' Glorfindel inquired mulishly.
'No one knew what to do with them, Your Lordship, so...'
'So you decided to feed them to me?' Glorfindel interrupted. He closed his eyes and slumped back in his chair, his expression pained. 'Very well. A lovely jest of the cook. I am sure that it amused at least one person at this table.' Here, he glanced pointedly at Lindir, who hurriedly straightened his face. 'Now take it away. Take it away.'
'Idiot... Idiot... Idiot...' Elrond muttered.
He had made his way down to the bathroom on the ground level of the house and was now scrubbing viciously at his hands. The telltale signs of his release had already long disappeared down the drain, but still he scrubbed.
Suddenly, he hissed in pain and threw down the brush. It ricocheted off the edge of the washbasin and landed with a loud crash in the tub. Elrond ignored it and peered angrily at his hand. He had rubbed the skin raw on a section of the palm, so raw that it bled.
'This is what happens when you get given a room on your own,' he hissed bitterly. 'Stupid Stupid STUPID!' He looked up at the mirror and gazed miserably at his crumpled, pink, and tear filled face. Moments later, his shoulders slumped and he crumpled to his knees to begin weeping afresh.
Lindir raised his chin and waited patiently whilst Neldor fastened the clasp of his travelling cloak at his throat.
Neldor was handing Lindir a pair of gloves when Glorfindel entered the cloakroom and smiled at him. Glorfindel was dressed in a fur-lined cloak similar to the one that Lindir currently wore. Lindir's brow creased and Glorfindel seemed to guess the cause of his confusion as he then said,
'It is unlikely that your father will be at the shrine. We were told that we would be met by his guides who would lead us to where your father wishes to meet us. This is why we are dressing up in travelling clothes. It may be one or even two days of travelling before we arrive at the site of negotiations. And it may be a week or so before the negotiations are concluded.'
Lindir nodded.
'Neldor will stay with you throughout the journey and the negotiations.'
Lindir nodded again and lowered his eyes to focus on pulling on his gloves. They were soft and warm against his skin. He smiled and looked back up at Glorfindel.
'Thank you,' he said. 'I like your household very much.'
Glorfindel's eyes sparkled with genuine pleasure. Then, to Lindir's surprise and delight, Glorfindel stepped forward and embraced him in a tight hug. Lindir closed his eyes and inhaled deeply of the scent of roses that clung to Glorfindel's tresses.
'This will, most likely, be the last time that we will be able to speak together for a time,' Glorfindel said quietly. He pressed a kiss to Lindir's brow before releasing him and standing back. 'Come. It is time to depart.'
Chapter Summary: In which Elrond is surprised by Erenion's mouth and expresses his feelings with a ham fork.
Bowed before the sink, Elrond stilled when he heard footsteps descending the stairwell. He hurriedly moved to stand, banged his head against the sink basin, cradled the stinging area with his hands, and stood.
The door opened behind him.
Elrond did not look around. It was either Erenion or Malgalad and in his opinion, neither of those elves warranted more attention than his poor head, which was screaming murder at him.
Someone shuffled across the floor and over to the bathtub. Elrond turned his head slightly to watch Erenion lean into the bath and retrieve the scrubbing brush. Then, when Erenion straightened, Elrond turned his attention away and tried to focus on the pain in his head.
'Is something wrong?' Erenion queried. He sounded disgustingly placid.
'No,' Elrond muttered. He lowered his hands, noticed that Erenion was looking at the red colour on his palm, and hurriedly put that arm behind his back. Erenion's gaze whipped back up to his face. The eyes looked uncharacteristically concerned. And awake.
'What happened to your hand?'
Elrond pretended not to hear him. 'I sent one of your ravens with a message to Lord Halmir,' he said. 'Hopefully, I will be able to leave before the end of the next fortnight.' He bowed politely. 'I apologise for having imposed on you, especially without your permission.'
'I...' Erenion's expression was sour.
'I am also very grateful for the hospitality that has been shown to me. I understand that it is an effort for you to adjust your normal routine to cater for your guest. I will endeavour to be as unobtrusive as possible during my remaining days as your unwanted guest.' Then he straightened, turned, and left the room.
The shrine to King Denethor, the last recognised King of the Green-Elves, sat on a low hill to the south of Harlond. The road out of Harlond ended at the base of the hill and the only way up to the building at the top was via a crumbling flight of stone steps. Twenty years ago, the site had been under the control of the Green-Elves. Now, however, it was no longer visited by any Green-Elves who valued their lives and wished to avoid detection by the authorities of Harlond.
Lindir, who had visited the site as a toddler, remembered the location well for its beauty and quietude. So when they arrived at the end of the road, he was somewhat taken aback when he saw what appeared to be more than a thousand soldiers gathered at the base of the steps.
They dismounted and the leaders of the waiting groups stepped forward to greet Glorfindel and Lindir. When a tall willowy elf clad in white who introduced himself as Lord Celeborn stepped forward towards them, Master Erestor stepped aside at a glance from his lord and went over to stand with the Sinda's army, which was gathered at one side of the road. Lindir, who had followed Erestor's rather meek retreat with vague interest, hurriedly averted his gaze from this particular company when he noticed that Melpomaen was not only present in the group, but also watching him intently.
Haldor was also present. Lindir expected there to be sheepishness and/or resentment on the part of both Glorfindel and Haldor, but to his surprise he only saw cheerful friendliness in the pair's greeting. Glorfindel and Haldor even hugged like old comrades.
So. Business was business.
Or maybe not. Lindir saw Haldor glance pointedly at Glorfindel's hands.
'Pretty periwinkles,' Haldor said, looking smug.
Glorfindel's smile turned sardonic. 'Only for you, Haldor,' he said. And he turned away to greet another lord, who was a representative of Lord Celebrimbor. Haldor returned to his escort, which represented Lord Círdan's Household.
'Has anyone gone up to the shrine yet?' Glorfindel asked, looking at Celeborn.
The Sinda shook his head. 'Only the Green-Elves,' he said in his quiet elegant voice. 'Finglas arrived with six others a few minutes ago.'
Glorfindel's brow knitted. 'Are there only seven elves?'
'No. According to those gazing westwards, there are groups of Green-Elves scattered along the old west road.'
Lindir perked up. If he was correct, that was the road that headed towards Prince Erenion's house and where Elrond had gone to attempt to persuade the nephew of Turgon, the last High King of the Noldor, to claim his uncle's title.
Glorfindel's face clouded. He looked troubled. 'That means that they expect us to go west,' he said.
'I assume that will be the case,' Celeborn said. 'I was surprised as well.'
Glorfindel turned and gazed westwards for a few moments. Then he turned back and smiled at Celeborn's expressionless face. 'Well, we may as well go and confirm the bad news.'
Celeborn inclined his head in agreement. 'Indeed.'
'Come, Lindir,' Glorfindel said. 'Let us go up to the shrine.'
On leaving the bathroom, Elrond headed down to the kitchen to set about providing himself with some breakfast. As he could not be bothered to wait for the oven, he just cut himself some slices of cold ham, tomatoes, mushrooms, and cheese. He arranged them on a plate along with some slices of buttered bread, turned around, and noticed that Erenion had followed him into the kitchen.
Erenion frowned at him. 'I thought you were the cook,' he said.
'You were mistaken.' Elrond set the plate down at the kitchen table and drew up a stool. 'Your servants gave me the impression that you sleep in late.'
'Did they?' Erenion wandered over and Elrond started when Erenion suddenly reached down and seized his injured hand.
Elrond turned his head and stared in surprise when he saw Erenion daubing a flannel cloth at the raw section on his palm. Then he winced when he felt the sting of alcohol.
Then Erenion let go of his hand and drew up another stool to sit down beside him. Erenion folded his arms on the table and plopped his head down on them. 'Your impression was correct,' Erenion muttered into his arms. 'But your percussion experiment with my bath tub woke me up.'
Elrond's brow rose. 'My apologises,' he said, not in the least apologetic. 'And Malgalad?'
'He drank too much,' Erenion said sleepily. 'He will be imitating a slug until his bladder awakens him.'
Elrond regarded Erenion's head for a few moments before turning his attention back to his meal. He picked up a slice of ham and began nibbling on it with his fingers.
Erenion stirred and rolled his head onto its side so that he was gazing almost level with the contents of Elrond's heaped plate. His nose wrinkled with disgust at the view of food.
'Must you eat so much?' he asked.
Elrond's gaze slid back to him. He considered a number of replies before settling on the simplest.
'Yes,' he replied.
'Gildor must starve you,' Erenion said then.
'No,' Elrond said. He picked up a slice of buttered bread and was about to bite into it when he saw Erenion still observing him with a sickened expression. He scowled.
'Must you watch me when I eat?' he asked.
Erenion's lips twisted into a playful smile. 'Yes.'
'Do as you wish, then,' Elrond bit into the bread and bore out Erenion's close scrutiny while he ate that... and then the rest of the ham... and then the tomatoes... and then the mushrooms... and lastly, the cheese.
'You must be extremely bored,' Elrond said sourly, after he had cleared the plate and noticed that Erenion was still observing him. Inwardly, he decided that should he become King, the first thing that he would do would be to secure and extend the roads right to the doorstep of this residence and give the address to as many door-to-door tradespeople as possible.
Erenion yawned and smiled placidly at him. It was a highly annoying expression.
'If you are tired, you should go back to bed,' Elrond added. 'Then, once Malgalad awakes, you will be energised to continue whatever you usually do with him.'
Erenion's smile widened ever so slightly, making it not only highly annoying, but highly sinister.
Elrond picked up his plate and rose to go over to the sink. He manoeuvred the taps until cold water was gushing out of the faucet and into the metal trough. It was a deafening noise in the quiet kitchen.
So deafening, that he missed the sound of Erenion pushing back his stool and approaching him. In hindsight, Elrond would suppose that he had also missed the sound of Erenion following him into the kitchen, so perhaps Erenion had intended for it to be that way.
Either way, Erenion's arms suddenly slid around his neck from behind. Elrond spun around in shock and then stiffened in surprise when Erenion pressed his lips to Elrond's lips. Then Elrond panicked.
He scrabbled to back away, but the sink was already pressing into his back. But there was something cold and hard in the sink, which lay drowned in the icy cold water that was still thundering out of the faucet. He seized the heavy plate and whipped it around to slam it into the side of Erenion's head. There was a cracking sound as the plate broke into several pieces.
Erenion grunted, his hands loosened from around Elrond's neck to cover the site of impact, and then Erenion slid to his knees before Elrond's feet.
Elrond was about to turn away, when he saw that blood was coursing through Erenion's fingers and down the back of his hands. Quite a lot of blood. His eyes widened in shock and then confusion.
He had only hit Erenion with the flat side of the plate, so why?
He looked down at the floor and stared in horror at the ham fork that was lying on the floor amidst the shards of the plate. Its prongs were covered with red liquid, which also smeared the flagstones. Oh... goodness. How on...? How...
Beside the ham fork, Erenion suddenly moaned and keeled onto his side, out cold.
Elrond swore.
They discovered Finglas sitting on the steps of the prayer building at the top of the hill. His six-person escort flanked him on either side. When he laid eyes on them, he stood up, unsmiling, to greet them.
'Glorfindel, Celeborn, Haldor...' He named each of the nobles who had come up the stairs. Then, when he had finished addressing them, he looked at Lindir and inclined his head. 'Your Lordship.'
'Finglas,' Celeborn said then. 'We were told to come here to engage in peace discussions with your lord, Lindo. Where is he?'
'He awaits you,' Finglas said. He nodded towards the heavily forested lands that lay to the west. 'A day's journey by foot, including breaks for lunch and supper. He expects to meet you this time tomorrow morning.'
Lindir thought he heard one of the nobles behind him exhale in a hiss of anger and disappointment.
'Will you guide us?' Glorfindel asked.
Finglas shot them a cold smile. 'Of course.'
Elrond carefully fastened the bandage around Erenion's head. On hearing a whimper escape the lips of his patient, he peered warily into Erenion's eyes, which had fluttered open. Relief filled Elrond. Ah, so he had not murdered Prince Erenion, son of Fingon. Maybe only given Erenion a reason to behave in an even more deranged and uncooperative manner than was current.
'How are you feeling?' he asked cautiously. He moved his hand to feel Erenion's forehead. His brow knitted.
Erenion's eyes shifted to look at him. 'Awful,' he muttered. He sounded woozy.
'I am sorry. I did not realise that there was a fork on the plate,' Elrond apologised. He dropped his hand back to his lap. 'Thankfully, it was only a surface cut. The fork did not cut you too deeply.'
'Thankfully,' Erenion echoed in a weak sour voice. His expression turned to malcontent. 'I barely touched you! Why try to impale me?'
'I panicked,' Elrond said truthfully. 'You frightened me.'
Erenion struggled to sit up and finally managed the task, but he reeled when he tried to stand up. 'I want to go back to my rooms,' he murmured. 'Could you help me?'
Elrond quickly slipped an arm around him. 'Of course,' he replied.
Chapter Summary: In which Elrond attempts to apologise to Erenion and Malgalad is bitten.
The old road was not actually very old, though one would not know it to look at it. It had been built less than a century ago, but it was covered in cracks and in sections, small hillocks or ditches had appeared where tree roots had broken through the charms that had been set down by the road's initial Sea-Elf builders to preserve the cobblestone. There was no doubt in Lindir's head that the roots that were mutating the road into a crueller track than the paths of the undergrowth were under the instruction of his people.
As a youth, he had never ventured along this road because of the possibility of meeting with one of the smaller hostile Green-Elf clans, which were known to inhabit this particular region. Lindir supposed that relations between the various clans had to have changed. Maybe they were all allied now that they had a common enemy in the Noldor and Sindar who ever sought to expand their existing territories.
He looked up and noticed that the sun was almost directly over their heads. Almost noon, then. Almost lunch time. He glanced at the swords on the belts of the Noldorin and Sindarin elves that surrounded him in a square formation and decided that he was not hungry.
Elrond knocked hesitantly on Erenion's bedroom door.
'Who is it?' Malgalad called out. Elrond hesitated. Ah, so Malgalad had awoken.
'I, Elrond,' Elrond replied uncertainly. 'I was wondering if I could check on his highness's condi...'
The door suddenly flew open and Malgalad glared out at him. 'What did you do to him?' he hissed.
'Is he well?' Elrond asked, not in the least intimidated. Malgalad was wearing a crumpled nightshirt and sporting thin red lines on his face from where he had evidently pressed his face hard into the bedsheets while sleeping. 'Is he conscious?'
'He is conscious,' Malgalad said, gazing at him suspiciously. 'What did you do to him? How did he get that wound on his head?'
Elrond pushed him firmly to one side so that he could peer past him and catch a glimpse of Erenion. His eyes widened when he saw that Erenion was sitting up in bed, a lunch tray on his lap. Elrond smiled anxiously and strode into the room.
'How are you feeling?' he asked.
Erenion looked up at him and smiled placidly. 'Wary of you,' he replied smoothly. He dropped his gaze to peer pointedly at Elrond's empty hands. 'No plates or ham forks,' he observed. 'Good.'
Elrond smiled weakly, although inwardly he was very glad and relieved that Erenion was treating the situation with such good temper. 'I really am sorry.'
Erenion turned his attention back to his tray and picked up a fork. 'Well, I can not forgive you,' he mused, absently twirling the fork through his long fingers. He suddenly seized the fork and prodded its prongs at Elrond. 'I deserve something by way of a real apology. Something physical.'
Elrond stiffened doubtfully. 'And what do you think you deserve?'
Erenion stabbed the fork into a mound of mashed potato and raised his freed hand to tap his cheek with his index finger. 'A kiss,' he said primly. Elrond smiled obligingly and walked over to the bed.
But then, when Elrond halted beside the bed, Erenion's eyes raked down him to settle at the skirt of Elrond's tunic and he added, 'And permission to grope you.'
Elrond scowled and leaned down to press his lips to Erenion's cheek. Then he pulled back. 'You have a dreadful sense of humour,' he scolded. 'But I am relieved to see that you are dealing with your injury with such good humour.'
Erenion smiled cattishly and patted the side of the bed. 'Perhaps, considering your appetite, you would like to finish this meal for me,' he said. 'I would ask Kitten, but he does not have a good stomach the day after drinking himself to sleep.'
Elrond looked at the plate of mashed potato, gravy, and roast chicken. It looked untouched and he glanced at Erenion with a frown.
'Go on,' Erenion prompted.
Elrond obligingly sat down and withdrew the fork from the creamed mass. He stabbed it into a piece of chicken and popped the flesh into his mouth.
'Is it good?'
'Very,' Elrond replied, easing the tray onto his own lap. He scooped up a dollop of potato and popped it into his mouth. He closed his eyes to savour the taste and then, on reopening his eyes and noticing that Erenion was watching him, he put down the fork.
'May I ask you question?' he asked.
'Of course, but...' Erenion turned his head and looked towards the open door, beside which Malgalad still stood. 'Kitten. Leave us, please.'
After the door had shut, Erenion looked back at Elrond. 'Now. What is this question?'
In answer, Elrond outstretched his hand and pressed it against Erenion's forehead. His brow knitted when he found the skin cold and clammy beneath his palm. So he had not been mistaken when he had tended Erenion's head that morning.
'You are unwell,' he said. 'I mean, unwell before I hurt you.'
'What of it?' Erenion gazed placidly at him. One of his locks fell forward and brushed Elrond's fingers.
Elrond hesitated. Then he said, 'Is this illness related to the reason why you will not become King?'
Erenion's gaze shifted towards the door. Elrond did not bother to follow the gaze; he knew there was no one there. He moved his hand to tuck the fallen lock back behind Erenion's ear. Erenion's hair was coarser than Lindir's heavy silken locks.
He continued, 'Could it be, perhaps, that you are troubled by the fact that you can not travel into the West?'
There was no response, so he dropped his hand and would have returned it to his own lap, but Erenion's hand suddenly whipped out and seized him by the wrist. Elrond gasped in surprise. The tray on Elrond's lap shifted slightly and the china dishes clinked as they slid together.
Elrond's gaze whipped up from the hand that was clenched around his wrist to search Erenion's eyes, but Erenion had already closed them. Elrond's noted the tension in his face and opened his mouth to press the matter, when Erenion suddenly thrust his wrist away. The force sent the tray sliding towards the ground and Elrond scrambled to catch it. When he looked back up, he saw that Erenion had rolled onto his side, away from him.
'Erenion.'
'Go,' Erenion said. The colour had died from his voice.
Elrond stood up. 'Erenion, if you are ill, you need to see a heal...'
A pillow whipped out and the tray was knocked out of Elrond's arms; the contents crashed to the floor between them. Elrond stared at Erenion, who had sat up and was glaring at him in such fury that he stumbled back in shock. He heard the crunch of glass beneath his shoes.
'I AM ILL BECAUSE I CHOOSE TO BE SO!' Erenion cried, his voice breaking in its anguish. His hands were clenched so tightly on the pillow that Elrond could hear the material ripping. 'NOW GET OUT OF MY ROOM!'
'But...'
'GET OUT!' Erenion screamed. There were tears in his eyes.
'Uh... yes.' Elrond turned and hurried from the room.
It was ironic, Lindir thought, that all these elves who desired peace were carrying weapons.
He gazed glumly around the perimeter of the clearing in which they had stopped to have lunch. A row two warriors thick guarded them. And Lindir knew that beyond them there were elves stationed further out to warn them of any change in their surroundings.
He had heard from the conversation of various guards that the Green-Elves had not shown their armies, but were following them on all sides and waiting ahead for them as well. Lindir supposed that that rather sinister sounding Green-Elf presence was cause enough for the Noldor and Sindar who had ventured this path to be extremely anxious. None of the Noldor or Sindar had explored these lands to any great success, not even during the time of the road's construction. At that time, a century ago, Lord Círdan's folk had been the only non-indigenous inhabitants of the land. They had encouraged the Green-Elves to engage in trade and had built the road to assist their own merchants, who had ventured into these forests.
Lindir thought back to what his mother, Linden, had told him.
'At that time,' she had said in her clear voice, 'we had thought well of elvish outsiders. It seemed that our gravest enemies were the other clans who also inhabited these lands. We even wished to accept the Noldor and Sindar when they came and claimed asylum from the hand of Morgoth. But then we learnt that these asylum-seekers were bringing their evils to our cousins in Forlindon. They were bringing their weapons with them and their lust to possess the beauty of the growing world rather that to preserve it. And then we learnt that they were killing our cousins and enslaving them to their own customs.'
Lindir blinked and looked up. He smiled.
He knew where his father wished to meet them, even if he did not know these lands. There was only one place that could mock Noldor and Sindar elves, even if it be a quiet mock that would most likely go unnoticed by its victims. They would meet in a shrine to Yavanna, the Lady of Fruition, and she would look over them and place her blessings on the most deserving group.
He snickered quietly. What a good jest.
Someone handed him a bowl of fruit and he took it with a bright smile. Suddenly, everything seemed a lot more cheerful.
Elrond discovered Malgalad waiting for him in the passageway outside the bedroom. The elf glared at him.
'I hope you are happy,' he said sourly. 'Now he will be unbearable for the next week.'
Considering how a normal Erenion appeared to be quite incomprehensible to him anyway, Elrond doubted that Malgalad's 'unbearable' would be much different from the usual. Or maybe it would actually be an improvement.
Malgalad tossed a piece of paper at him. 'Your raven returned just now and I wrote down what it reported to me.' He scowled. 'It bit me.'
Elrond caught the paper and read out the scribbled words, 'We are willing to pick you up tomorrow at mid-afternoon. Meet at the same place we dropped you.'
Good. He smiled at Malgalad. 'Thank you.'
Chapter Summary: In which Lindo is introduced and Elrond sketches Lindir.
The following morning, Elrond again rose before dawn. He packed his belongings in preparation to leave just before noon, breakfasted in the kitchen, and carefully washed up. He switched off the sink faucet to silence the thunderous noise of rushing water, then listened for noises upstairs, but it seemed as if he was the only one in the house who was awake.
But when he exited the kitchen and returned to the entrance hall, he saw Erenion standing on the first floor landing. Erenion was wearing his sleeping robe and a dressing gown. Erenion gazed down at him without expression. His face looked ashen and drawn in the pale grey light that streamed through the windows on the eastern wall of the landing.
Elrond inclined his head in silent greeting before turning and making his way to the library.
The shrine was constructed out of the living wood of the forest. Not dead wood, like the shrine to King Denethor, but wood that still grew and which showered leaves onto those inside during the autumn. Willows. Lindir could not hide his smile at the confirmation of his guess of the location. It was indeed a shrine to Yavanna.
At the end of the path that led south to the building, they halted, for two hundred or so armed Green-Elves blocked the path. On looking to the forest, which surrounded the shrine on all sides, Lindir saw that some of the groups that had shadowed them had made an appearance and were eyeing the approaching army with both apprehension and malcontent.
Finglas, who was walking at the front of them, now turned around and addressed them.
'You can not allow your armies to pass,' he said. 'But we will permit each of those who have a right to attend the negotiations to bring with them a single body guard to accompany them into the shrine and four extra guards to wait on the porch and sound out the alarm should there be any misbehaviour on our part.'
Celeborn managed to argue the number of extra guards up to six each to match Finglas' own guard and then the line of Green-Elves parted and those selected passed along the path and approached the closed doors of the building. Lindir found himself walking between Lord Glorfindel and Lord Celeborn, which was highly discomforting as Melpomaen was walking right behind him.
At the doors, the extra guards moved aside to surround the building. Then Finglas opened the doors and entered the dappled light of the hall. The rest of them followed.
There, Lindir saw, knelt to the side of the dais and the altar that praised the Goddess Yavanna, was his father, Lindo. He smiled. Lindo gazed up at them with tired eyes and then, with a sour smile, stood up to greet them. Lindir brightened. Then, after a quick glance on either side of him to check that no one was about to stop such a motion, he ran forward and flung his arms around him.
His father chuckled and kissed both of his cheeks before gently pushing him back, back into the arms of the only other person who waited in the shrine with him. Lindir looked at the red-clad elf and saw that it was Seregon, one of his father's advisors. He smiled and obediently allowed Seregon to guide him to the other side of the dais where he was told to sit down. He sat; there would assuredly be time later to spend with his father in private conversation.
Then Lindo spoke and greeted the nobles who had ventured into the hall. He bidded them to be seated on cushions if they were uncomfortable with sitting on the floor as was usual for the Laegrim. And then, when they were all seated and the bodyguards (Finglas included) had moved to the perimeter of the room, they proceeded immediately into the topic of discussion.
In the library, Elrond sat down beside the window and peered out at the view of Erenion's vegetable garden. The intensity of the sun was growing stronger and it illuminated and strengthened the colour of Erenion's legume blossoms.
In his hands, he held a small sketchbook. He had found it that morning in his guest room and the many sketches that were kept in the library had inspired him to do his own, less obscene, doodles.
There was no question of what he wanted to draw and now he fancied that he had a decent setting for the elf that he had chosen for the starring role.
On the page before him appeared the stone border of the vegetable bed. And part-way down the border sat a petite elf with beautifully formed limbs and heavy silken tresses that blew in the slight breeze that had won the struggle to pass the walls of hedge that sheltered the patch. Lindir sat half-turned towards him, his curious gaze turned towards a sizable cabbage that grew behind him. One hand was outstretched and resting splayed on the surface of the large firm vegetable; an index finger lay aligned against one pronounced vein. The other hand was in the process of pushing his hair out of his eyes.
Elrond started when he heard the door open. He looked around and observed Erenion enter the room. Erenion stopped and gazed at him for a few moments before turning and heading over to the bookshelves. He pulled out a number of dusty tomes and then wandered over to the small desk beside the door. There he sat down.
Elrond turned back to his sketch and continued to draw.
Lindir had thought that the negotiations would go smoothly. Both parties wished for peace, so he had anticipated that each party would dampen their differences in order to ease the achievement of that common goal.
He was quite mistaken. After the initial agreement that they all wished to discuss the attainment of peace, the conversation steadily deteriorated.
'Let me make myself plain to you,' Lindo interrupted, glaring at Celeborn. 'I am not concerned with the welfare of your people. I am concerned with the welfare of my own people.'
'We are all concerned for the welfare of our own people,' Celeborn said patiently. 'That is our natural duty as leaders, but in order to care for the welfare of the people we guide, we must be willing to make sacrifices to avoid furthering their suffering. We must...'
'I did not start the suffering!'
Celeborn looked annoyed. 'I did not say that you started the strife in Lindon,' he said. 'And your tone suggests that you blame us for the battles that trouble our people. That is mistaken!'
'It is not mistaken!' Lindo retorted.
Here, Glorfindel stirred. 'We did not wish to come here,' he interceded. 'We were driven here as a result of the War of Wrath. The most convenient, the quickest settlement for the refugees was Lindon, or Ossiriand to use the old name. Lord Círdan already had...'
'Yes, yes,' Lindo interrupted stubbornly. 'But you are not using this land as a temporary refugee camp. You are sitting on this land. Sitting!' He gestured to emphasise the word. 'You are building permanent settlements. You are expanding your settlements and destroying the lands. You are burning the lands.'
'It is difficult to prevent our people from burning the lands when the lands attempt to attack them,' Glorfindel said. He looked mutinous.
'They attack your settlements with good reason!' Lindo replied sharply. He pointed at Glorfindel, whose face darkened. 'My people are dying because of the actions of your people. They are dying because your people are trying to claim the land. They are dying because your people invade their villages, drive them out, and set fire to their houses. Is that not a good reason for them to seek revenge? Is it...'
'Those are not my people.' Glorfindel bit out.
'Then whose are they!' Lindo demanded. 'They are most definitely Noldor and I do not see any other person who is responsible for the Noldor on these shores.'
'I am only responsible for the Exiles of Gondolin. That is all I have ever been...'
'And yet,' Lindo interrupted coldly, 'it is under the name of all of the Noldor that you ordered, not only the death of my cousins up north, but also the death of my wife, my children, and my relatives.' He gazed at Glorfindel in repulsion. 'Which is it? Or are you only lord of all the Noldor when it is convenient for you? How honourable!'
Haldor reached out and placed a hand on Glorfindel's arm. Lindir noticed then that Glorfindel's hand had clenched. He was reminded of the day that he had arrived in Harlond and when Erestor had provoked Glorfindel to wrath. He swallowed.
'Haldor,' Lindo said then. 'What has Lord Círdan to say on the matter?'
'He has nothing to say,' Haldor said. 'The Exiles of the Falas will continue to provide aid to both the Green-Elves and the refugees of Beleriand until no more such aid be desired. We continue to encourage Beleriand refugees to seek settlements east of the mountains. But we are neutral with regard to the situation within Lindon.'
Lindo nodded and fell silent.
Presently, Celeborn asked, 'May I ask a question about your political situation, Lindo?'
Lindo's gaze slid to him. 'You may,' he said.
'Have alliances been secured between your clan and the other clans in this region?'
Lindo turned his head and looked at his advisor, Seregon, who hesitated. Then the advisor said, 'Our relations with our various indigenous neighbours fluctuates. But you are correct in that there have been some alliances secured between the Green-Elves in this locality and our clan.'
'Now,' Lindo said, looking now at Celebrimbor's representative. 'What is Celebrimbor's opinion?'
Elrond added a last touch to emphasise the veins of the cabbage and those others of the same vegetable species that lay in orderly rows about it.
'Who is that elf?' Erenion asked. He was standing right behind Elrond.
Elrond jumped so hard that he hit his left hand on the wooden arm of the chair in which he was seated. He cradled the bruised limb in its fellow and muttered, 'Lindir, son of Lindo.'
'Here.'
A piece of paper was slid on top of the sketch. Erenion turned and Elrond heard him leave the room. The door shut.
He gazed down at the paper and his brow knitted. Then he smiled. Erenion had drawn him drawing Lindir.
Then he frowned. On the evening of his arrival he had seen a drawing of Lindir in one of Erenion's sketchbooks. So why had Erenion not known Lindir's name?
'Oh.' He smiled. Maybe Erenion had simply drawn Lindir's face and been unaware of Lindir's name. Or maybe he had forgotten. Or maybe he had copied Lindir's face from somewhere else. There were plenty of explanations.
Whatever the explanation, Elrond doubted Erenion would forget or overlook the name of someone who was personally important to Erenion. That was assurance that Erenion harboured no significant sexual attraction to Lindir. That assured Elrond that nothing lay between Erenion and Lindir. And that was a comforting thought.
Chapter Summary: In which Melpomaen slips out of the shrine.
The relations between Lord Lindo and Lord Glorfindel had deteriorated to such a point that now the elf-lords refused to acknowledge one another and in Lindo's case, that also meant ignoring his other visitors. Lindo sat with arms folded, his head turned to one side so that he was glaring off to the wall against which Finglas leaned. Glorfindel was similarly posed; only he was glaring at the opposite wall where Neldor sat with eyes closed. Neither moved.
The other nobles had fallen silent. Without Lindo acknowledging them, there was no way of continuing the discussions. They exchanged awkward annoyed looks between themselves.
It was Seregon, Lindo's advisor, who finally stirred and attempted to coax the pair back to speaking terms.
'Now, now,' the advisor said in an amused voice, leaning forward to peer between the stony faces of Glorfindel and Lindo. 'How will this silence appease your people? Lord Glorfindel. Lord Lindo. This is no way to solve this sort of problem.' He stopped to allow the pair to absorb his words.
There was no response and the silence dragged on.
After waiting a little longer, Seregon finally slumped back into his original position and sighed. Then he looked at the other elves in the room. 'Well,' he said. 'We may as well take a short break. Perhaps that will cool our heads. Lord Lindo and I will retreat outside to allow the rest of you to consider your situation in peace.'
He rose and Lindo followed suit. Lindir glanced at Finglas, half-expecting him to leave with them, but Finglas remained still. He met Finglas's gaze, but Finglas's gaze was just as cold and intimidating as ever, so Lindir returned his attention to the nobles.
'Glorfindel,' Haldor said quietly. He reached out and placed a comforting hand on Glorfindel's shoulder. 'You did well not to argue with him, but this silence does not make the situation any easier for the rest of us.'
Glorfindel's gaze slid to Haldor. 'I do not see how the situation can get any easier,' he said, unsmiling. He turned his head and looked bleakly at Celeborn. 'Lindo will not be swayed. He is determined to have us removed to Forlindon.'
'He can not take that path,' Celeborn said.
'It is not a matter of whether he can or he can not,' Glorfindel said anxiously. 'I think he will take it and all the consequences that come with such a decision.'
Celeborn shook his head. 'He is not that foolish. He cares too much about his people to risk them in open war with us. And he knows that he can not win such a war.'
'I disagree with you,' Glorfindel said. 'I think he is proud enough to think that he will come out the better if he starts a war with us.' He laughed sourly. 'Well, we are at war,' he corrected, 'but it could get much worse than skirmishes on the borders of Harlond and the various camps.'
Lindir leaned against the wall behind him and sighed. Much as he would like Lord Celeborn to be right, his heart and mind agreed with Lord Glorfindel. His advisors did not call his father an attacking dog for nothing. Once his father got his teeth stuck into something, he would not let go. For life.
He listened half interestedly to the conversation. He doubted that any realistic solutions to the problem would crop up, but he wished to be optimistic about the situation. And besides, there was little else to do. Much as he would have preferred to have left the room with his father, there was no way that he would be permitted to leave the presence of the Noldor and Sindar until the negotiations had concluded.
He wondered what Lindo would do should the negotiations continue to go ill and their visitors insist on taking him back to Harlond with them. He smiled at the thought. Although he disliked the idea of leaving his father's company, the idea of seeing Elrond and Gildor again was... comforting. And he liked Glorfindel. Glorfindel had a warmth about him, which was... His gaze slid to rest on Glorfindel.
'Where is that guard?'
Finglas's voice was quiet, but it demanded their attention. Their gazes all slid to him and then to follow his gaze to where Celeborn's body guard had last been seen standing with his head bowed to his chest.
Lindir's eyes widened. That body guard. That bodyguard had been...
'Melpomaen,' Glorfindel breathed. He looked sharply at Celeborn, whose face tightened. Glorfindel's face clouded with anxiety. 'We had better go and find him,' he said.
'I will go,' Finglas said, straightening from his leaned position against the wall. He hastened out of the hall.
Moments after he had left, Glorfindel stood up and walked towards the door. Then, two feet from the door, he turned around and shot Celeborn's back a frustrated look. He looked as if he would dearly like to say something, but he stopped himself and turned back around to walk out of the hall. His tall frame disappeared out of the doors.
Moments later, they heard the sound of war horns blowing and people shouting outside. The guards jumped to their feet. Then Glorfindel ducked back inside. His face was very white.
'We need to go! Immediately!' he ordered. The guards looked at their respective lords, but there was no immediate response from those who had engaged in the negotiations. Glorfindel's brow knitted and he barked, 'GET OUT NOW!' He grabbed Celeborn by the arm and pulled him to his feet.
'What's happening out there?' Celeborn demanded.
'We're under attack!' Glorfindel said, pulling him towards the door. He bundled Celeborn out of the door and followed after him. 'I don't know why!' The rest of the lords followed, their bodyguards before them.
Suddenly, Lindir realised that he was alone in the dappled shade of the hall. He looked around to make sure and then, with a small anxious chuckle of surprise, stood up and cautiously made his way to the door and the sounds of clashing swords and shouts.
He cautiously stepped out, but that turned out to be a mistake. Neldor was standing just outside, his sword drawn and dripping with blood. Two bodies lay at his feet, their green clothes turning dark brown as the material soaked up their blood. There was blood on Neldor's sleeves. More Green-Elves were approaching him.
At that moment, Neldor turned around, saw him, stretched out a hand, and seized him by the arm. And before Lindir could make up his mind about whether or not to struggle, he found himself being hurried east along the perimeter of the hall and over the greensward. Lindo's guards ran after them.
They fled into the forest that surrounded the shrine and when Lindir looked back, he could no longer see their followers. He looked up at the tree canopies above them, but the canopy was too dense and they were travelling too fast for him to see if they were being followed via that route. He wondered where Neldor was taking him. Did he think he could escape the forest? Maybe he was right. The trees would not attack while he, Lindir, was with him.
Then he tripped on a tree root and fell over face first into the dirt and the leaves. Neldor halted and turned back, his sword at the ready, his mouth gaping as he tried to catch his breath. Blood dripped from his arms. His head turned from side to side in confusion. He appeared to be searching for something... or someone.
Lindir crawled to his hands and knees. Why was Neldor stopping in this place? Why had the tree stopped him here? In the middle of the forest?
Six Green-Elves suddenly dropped from the tree canopy before them to land crouched, cat-like, on the leaves. On straightening, they drew their swords. Finglas was with them. Neldor inhaled sharply and spread his feet in readiness for an attack. Lindir saw another six elves drop down from the trees behind them. He moved to go to them, but Neldor read his motion and slammed his scabbard out in time to catch Lindir on his neck with the end. Lindir slumped to one side. His mouth filled with blood and he began to cough. Blood spattered onto the leaves around him.
'Haldor!' Neldor called. There was a note of panic in his voice. 'HALDOR!'
Finglas snorted. 'Hand him over, Neldor.'
Lindir looked at them. Neldor was glaring at Finglas, who laughed.
'A duel, then,' he said, looking suddenly quite pleasant. He drew his empty scabbard out from his sash and tossed it aside so that he now only held his bared sword.
Neldor glanced at Lindir. Then he looked at Finglas and shook his head. 'N-not a duel,' he stammered.
'Come come, Neldor,' Finglas purred. 'You are all on your own. You are injured. It is in your best interests to take us on one by one.'
Silence. Neldor turned his head and looked northwards, back towards the road.
Then he looked back at Finglas. Eyes narrowed, he reached down, seized Lindir by the collar, and yanked Lindir up before him. Lindir felt the cold sharp edge of Neldor's sword blade press against his neck.
'If you come any closer, then I will cut his throat,' Neldor warned.
Finglas's face soured and the elf stood back. Lindir wanted to cough up blood, but he dared not lean forward. He choked and tried to lean back to swallow the liquid without catching his throat on the blade. The blade followed him. Blood trickled out the sides of his mouth.
Neldor wrapped his free hand around one of Lindir's arms and began forcing him northwards.
They had proceeded about ten feet when suddenly, Lindir heard the sound of feet running from the direction of the road and then eight Falathrim elves had surrounded them. Haldor was with them. Haldor's face was very white and he was breathing hard. His sword was drawn. He looked between them and the watching Green-Elves.
'Sorry! Sorry!' he gasped. 'We were occupied at the road! Glorfindel is about to leave! We will hold them off! Run quickly!' The elves with him ran forward to block the path from the approaching Green-Elves. Haldor remained beside Lindir and Neldor.
Neldor sighed in relief and dropped his blade from Lindir's neck. He was about to pull Lindir northwards when Haldor suddenly reached out and seized him by the wrist of his sword arm. On finding himself thus halted, Neldor turned towards Haldor. Lindir was just registering the strangeness of Haldor's motion when Haldor plunged his sword through Neldor's neck.
Neldor stared at him, stunned. Haldor's face twisted with disgust and he yanked his sword out of Neldor's neck. It came out at one side, partially severing the head. His blood splattered onto the both of them and Lindir felt droplets of warm liquid land on his face. Neldor crumpled to the forest floor. His fingers slipped away from Lindir's arm.
Haldor turned around to glare at the watching elves, all of whom, Falathrim included, looked unsurprised at the turn of events. 'You were supposed to deal with him,' he snarled at Finglas.
'Circumstances change,' Finglas said coldly. He strode forward through the Falathrim barricade and took Lindir by the arm that Neldor had dropped. 'Lord Lindo was not supposed to die, especially not by the hands of a deranged body guard.'
Lindir's eyes widened. His father was dead?
Lindir felt one of Haldor's hands push him closer to Finglas. 'Go,' Haldor said. He was looking at Finglas. 'You will have to run. Lindir does not know how to vault.'
Finglas inclined his head, then turned and darted eastwards into the forest undergrowth, pulling Lindir after him. The other Green-Elves followed them. On looking back, Lindir saw Haldor and the rest heading back to the road.
Chapter Summary: In which Erestor pleads for Gil-galad's assistance.
Elrond scanned his guest room one last time to make sure that he had not left anything behind him. Then, assured that he had not forgotten anything, he turned and carried his bags down to the ground level of the house.
He dropped them in the hallway and turned to head to the stairs that would lead him down to the kitchen. He had already lunched, but he wished to farewell the servants. Maybe the cook would give him a parting morsel of something delicious.
He had just reached the end of the hallway and the top of the stairs that led down to the kitchen when he heard the front door bang open. The wind? He turned around to see a figure slumped against the doorframe. The elf stared back at him through half-closed, exhausted eyes. His mouth hung open and Elrond could hear him drawing pained breaths. His face was grey.
'Can... can I help you?' Elrond asked.
The stranger inhaled in a strange wheezing noise. 'Help,' he gasped. 'Where... where is Prince Erenion?'
There was a muffled noise on the stairwell and the stranger's gaze slid to the stairwell. 'Malgalad,' he wheezed.
Elrond moved cautiously back to the main stairwell. On looking up, he saw Malgalad standing on the first floor landing and staring down at the stranger, his face very white.
'Go and fetch Erenion,' Elrond ordered Malgalad.
Malgalad blinked and turned his head to look at him. He nodded wordlessly and turned to disappear into the master bedroom. The door shut behind him.
Elrond returned his gaze to the stranger. 'Come,' he said. 'Come, let us go into the drawing room.'
The stranger's expression turned to resignation, as if he wished that he could bypass the task of explanation and continue straight to action, but he nodded weakly and pushed himself away from the door frame. Elrond ran to help him and, on seeing that the elf's nearest sleeve and front was stained with blood, wrapped his arm around the elf's back.
Once they were in the drawing room, Elrond helped the panting elf into a seat. A servant appeared at the door and Elrond ordered them to fetch a drink of water for the stranger and various items that he guessed might be needed to tend the elf's wounds.
Moments later, Erenion wandered in, closely followed by Malgalad. Erenion drew to a halt as soon as he caught sight of the newcomer.
'Erestor,' Erenion said. He looked alarmed. 'What happened to you?'
Erestor looked up at Erenion. Distress filled his face. He threw himself off the chair and landed on his knees before Erenion. His braids trailed on the floorboards when he bent his head. 'Your Highness,' he gasped. 'I beg for your help. My lord, Celeborn, and his escort are trapped and surrounded by attackers on the main road ten miles north east of this place.'
Erenion's brow knitted. 'What is Celeborn doing there?'
Erestor looked up. 'Lindo requested to hold peace negotiations with my lord and a number of others in a shrine some thirty miles east of here. But the negotiations went ill and we were attacked by Lindo's armies.'
Erenion stared at him in confusion. 'What? Are you telling me that only Celeborn and his escort have survived?'
'No no.' Erestor swallowed. 'Our parties were split up and my lord's party, alone of the rest, was driven north-west. The others have, assumedly, fled east back towards Harlond.'
'And what went so wrong at the negotiations to provoke this attack?'
Erestor's eyes filled with tears. 'One of our guards disobeyed our orders and assassinated Lindo during a break in the negotiations.'
Elrond stared at him in horror. 'Then... then what happened to Lindir?' he asked quickly, before Erenion could speak.
Erestor turned his head to look at him. 'Sir, he was snatched by his people who appear to have taken him southeast into their territories.'
'This is Lord Elrond, son of Lord Eärendil and Lady Elwing, Erestor,' Erenion quietly interceded.
Erestor's face stiffened with surprise. Then he inclined his head towards Elrond. 'My apologies, Your Lordship.'
'And this, Elrond,' Erenion continued, 'is Erestor, son of Erendur. And Malgalad's sire.'
Elrond nodded impatiently. He did not see why they should waste time exchanging names. He looked at Erestor.
'Erestor,' he asked, 'how large is the army attacking Lord Celeborn's party?'
'It appeared to be six hundred when I left, Your Lordship.'
'And how large is Celeborn's party?'
'Three hundred,' Erestor said. 'We are better armed than they, but we are unacquainted with the terrain and we fear that they will send for more troops to support them.'
'What I do not understand,' Erenion said quietly. 'Is why you came to me. I...'
'There is no one else who may provide us with support in time,' Erestor said hastily. 'Please, Your Highness, there is...'
'The answer is no,' Erenion said, gazing coldly at Erestor. 'Be glad that I did not make you wait longer for a response.' He turned away and shuffled out of the room, almost knocking over the two servants who had come with Erestor's drink of water and various medical items. Malgalad hurried after him.
Elrond frowned. He looked down at Erestor, who had sat back on his haunches and was gazing at the floorboards before him, his expression indescribable in its dismay.
'I will go and speak with him,' Elrond said. He gestured for the servants to enter and tend Erestor before hurrying out of the room and up the stairs to where Erenion and Malgalad were disappearing into the master bedroom.
'Erenion!' he said. He slipped in behind Malgalad and ran in front of him. 'Erenion, why will you not help him? Why will you not assist Lord Celeborn?'
Erenion had gone over to the seats beneath his windows. Now, he turned and gazed at Elrond in cold resentment.
'What does it matter anyway?' he asked. 'Death is not the end. I am sure that Celeborn will be much happier in Aman among his family members than on these shores.'
Elrond stared at him in amazement.
'That is not the point!' he said. 'It is immoral to let them die! It is cruel to let them suffer so, especially when you can help them! That is...'
'I do not have the resources to help them,' Erenion interrupted him. 'There are less than a hundred elves in my service.' He spread his hands.
'And that makes four hundred!' Elrond cried. 'I am sure that we can...'
'No!' Erenion's expression twisted with disgust. 'You do not understand! Most of those servants are women! And has it ever crossed your mind that by lending my help to Celeborn, however little that help may be, I may be exposing my own household to danger? I am surrounded by ocean on the west and the territories of the indigenous elves on all other sides!'
Elrond faltered.
'Already, Erestor has endangered my entire household by daring to enter my house and request my assistance,' Erenion continued. He glared at Elrond. 'Save you, of course. You have already made your farewells.' Then, on seeing Elrond's delighted expression, he frowned. 'What is it?'
Elrond grinned at him. 'Lord Círdan's warship is passing six miles south of this location,' he said. 'It holds about three hundred warriors! I am sure that they will be able to...'
'No,' Erenion snapped. 'If you engage me in a war, then you are risking the women and children of...'
Still smiling, Elrond shook his head. 'Then you can stay here and distance yourself from these events,' he said. 'I will send for Halmir to sail here with all speed. He should be here under two hours and then we can march to where the...'
'Two hours! And what will you do if Celeborn and his army has, by that time, already perished?'
'Then, in anticipation of such a disaster, I will send a messenger to Celeborn with the orders that Celeborn is to try to stay alive until that time arrives.'
Erenion's eyes narrowed. 'You are assuming that Lindo's army will not have sent for assistance by then,' he said. 'It is a ridiculous mission!'
Elrond bristled. 'Then it is a ridiculous mission!' he cried. 'But you can wash your hands of responsibility for it! I will take the responsibility! Your neutral stance and your reputation is saved, Erenion! You can continue to spend your days sulking on the eastern shores of Belegaer! Feel free to claim that Erestor came to see me if Lindo's army calls at your doorstep. I will claim the same.' He turned and stalked out of the room.
'Fetch me the fastest aerial messenger that you can find,' he told the first servant that he met. 'Send them to Lord Halmir, who is sailing one of Lord Círdan's warships in the region. Tell them that Lord Celeborn is under attack on the old seaward road and that they need help immediately! Tell them that the attack was incited by the assassination of Lord Lindo of the Green-Elves. Tell them that I will meet them on the sea shore where they dropped me and guide them to the location.'
'Yes, Your Lordship!' The servant turned and hurried away.
Of another servant, Elrond then asked, 'do you have any mail and weapons stored in this house, which I might use?'
To his relief, the servant replied to the affirmative.
Chapter Summary: In which takes place a fierce battle.
Halmir stared at Elrond and Erestor in bewilderment. 'But if the battle began over an hour ago and without reinforcements to Celeborn's army, the fate of the battle has probably already been decided and either Celeborn's party or the attackers have perished!' he hissed. 'Are you telling me you brought me out here for nothing?'
'Hopefully it has not been decided,' Elrond said. At least it had not been over two hours, which it surely would have been if he had not directed Halmir and his army to make their way to the road and met them there.
Halmir seized his arm and drew him to the side of the road. Behind them, the rest of the army shuffled to a surprised halt. Erestor waited with the army.
'Elrond,' Halmir said in a low voice. 'The trees around us will have already reported the presence of this army to whoever attacked Celeborn's army. So if Celeborn's party has already perished, then we may expect an ambush by more than five hundred elves! And I do not wish to engage in a fruitless battle.'
'If Celeborn's army has perished,' Elrond retorted, 'then how do you know that the attackers will not simply leave the scene and allow us to clean up the bodies? And there is no proof that the Green-Elves can speak to the trees!'
Halmir glared.
Elrond sighed. 'If you do not want to help, then I respect your decision,' he said. 'You do not serve me.' He turned and continued walking north along the road. Erestor hurried to follow him.
He had walked about a hundred feet when he suddenly heard the army begin to move again; following them. He smiled anxiously.
Another mile down the road and Elrond's gravest fears were banished when he began to hear the sounds of battle. But new fears were aroused when he realised that they were not northeast of the Prince's residence, but in fact near to the stairway that led west up the cliff to Prince Erenion's house. As they drew nearer, they saw that Celeborn's army, which numbered no more than sixty elves clad in grey livery, was being pushed towards the base of the stairs by a second, larger army. But it did not seem that the Green-Elves numbered more than three hundred.
And then an arrow whipped past his head and struck the soldier immediately behind him. Erestor, who had run forward to go to his lord, stopped in confusion. Seeing this and on hearing a shout from Halmir, Elrond ran after him, grabbed him by the collar, and yanked him down into a crouched position and out of the line of a volley of answering Falathrim arrows, which flew into the tree canopies and undergrowth around them. Then he released Erestor, who immediately ran to engage the Green-Elves that clung in a thick thong around the ailing Sindarin army. Elrond followed him.
It had been exactly as Halmir had warned them. So the Green-Elves really could speak to the trees! As he engaged two of the younger Green-Elves, easily shattering the thin sword of one and slicing the other from navel to chin, he vaguely wondered why Lindir had never told him. He supposed, bitterly, that like him, Lindir also kept secrets. He despatched the first elf with a slash to the lad's face, then moved to engage a group of Green-Elves who had surrounded him. Two of Halmir's warriors assisted him in the task.
He suddenly heard a shout up ahead and he looked up to catch a glimpse of a tall elf in white that he supposed was Lord Celeborn. Celeborn had surrounded himself with members of his guard, but it appeared that three Green-Elves in particular were proving difficult. One of them was dressed in bright red, in sharp contrast to the rest of the Green-Elf warriors, who were all clad in green. Elrond wondered if he was their captain.
'ELROND!'
Someone pushed him in the back and he stumbled forward. A blade flashed through the air and he realised that he had narrowly missed being cut. He swung around and stared at the elf who was despatching the Green-Elf behind him.
'Erenion!' he gasped.
Erenion glanced at him vaguely before quickly moving to engage another elf who was attacking a Falathrim elf beside them. There was blood all over his tunic and his face was ashen. 'See if you can get closer to that elf in red!' Erenion shouted at him.
Elrond nodded hurriedly, turned, and tried to plough his way through the last few lines of Green-Elves. Up ahead, he saw the guard immediately in front of Celeborn fall and the elf in red whip through the gap. His white sword slashed through the air, headed for Celeborn's head.
Celeborn ducked and the two guards beside him barrelled forward. One of them managed to catch the Green-Elf captain at the top of his shoulder and the captain's own warriors hurriedly dragged their leader out of the reach of their opponents and to relative safety in the undergrowth.
Elrond ran after him, but two Green-Elves dressed in clothes strikingly similar to Lindir's own official dress ran at him and he was forced to engage them. One of them managed to graze him on the side of his head and he was relieved when three of Halmir's warriors caught up with him.
And then they heard the Green-Elves shouting at one another and all of a sudden, their attackers had turned tail and fled off the road and back into the undergrowth. Some of them leapt up into the tree canopies and Elrond heard the trees shivering as the warriors made a swift retreat. Halmir shouted at his warriors to stay on the road and to not pursue them.
Someone patted his shoulder and Elrond swung around to look at Erenion, who had stepped over the body of the last Green-Elf that Elrond had cut to stand beside him. Erenion smiled at him. 'It would seem that you also know what it is like to be impaled with sharp objects,' he said. 'How is your head?'
'It is not deep,' Elrond said. 'You look in a much worse condition. Why did...?'
He stopped when he saw Erenion turn away and prod the body of the Green-Elf with his shoe. The dying elf glanced up at them and Erenion swiftly moved to plunge his sword through the elf's neck. Elrond's gaze slid down to the elf's green garb and for a brief moment, he imagined that it was Lindir who was lying there on the ground with blood pouring from his chest and neck. He looked hurriedly away.
'Who was that elf in red?' he asked. He looked back at Erenion, who glanced at him before waving at Halmir, who was picking his way through the bodies with six of his guards.
'That was Captain Seregon,' Erenion said vaguely. 'He was once an advisor of King Denethor. He now serves Lord Lindo, although Lindo has no direct blood relation to Denethor.' He turned to smile at Halmir, who had by now approached them. 'Hail Halmir. I thought it would be more convenient if I brought the battle as far south as possible.'
'I was under the impression that you would not be participating in this battle, Your Highness,' Halmir responded. 'I am very much relieved to see that the opposite was the case.' He bowed deeply.
'I changed my mind,' Erenion replied, when Halmir had straightened. He turned and looked at Celeborn, who was sitting near the bottom of the stairs and having a cut on his arm seen to by one of his servants. 'Now, we should all follow Celeborn's example and get our wounds seen to as soon as possible. We will attend the dead as soon as we have tended the injured.'
'Are you badly injured?' Elrond asked, looking at Erenion. He was glad to see that the grey colour had left the elf's thin cheeks.
Erenion glanced down at his blood-spattered clothes. 'Surprisingly, no,' he mused. 'I must be in much better condition than I had thought. I will have to thank Kitten.' He wrapped an arm around Elrond's shoulders, who bore it with good humour.
'Who is Kitten?' Halmir queried curiously, pushing his hair out of his eyes.
Erenion flashed Halmir a predatory grin and to Elrond's initial confusion and then horror, he felt Erenion's fingers running through his tresses in what could only be called a caress. He shook off Erenion's arm and glared at Halmir's startled expression.
'Kitten is his pet name for Malgalad,' he snarled at Halmir. He shot a glare at Erenion's smug expression before turning and stomping off towards the nearest healer who did not look too occupied.
Chapter Summary: In which the story, 'Reluctant Heirs', is concluded.
By late afternoon, the bodies had been placed on a number of pyres beside the road and set alight. From where he was seated near the window in the dining room of Prince Erenion's house, Elrond could see the smoke rising and drifting eastwards over the forest. But there was no smell of smoke inside the house, save that which clung to their bodies and clothes.
'What are you going to do?' Celeborn asked. The question was directed at Prince Erenion, who was seated at the head of the table. Elrond's gaze slid away from the window and onto Erenion, who was playing with a piece of chicken on his plate, which he had recently prised off a succulent breast with his fork.
'It is not safe for you to stay here,' Celeborn added. When Erenion made no answer, Celeborn looked at Elrond. 'I was not aware that his highness entertained guests,' he said.
'Not willingly. We were discussing matters of governance,' Elrond said. Celeborn's eyes narrowed curiously and Elrond, deciding that it would make no difference if he told Celeborn the news now or later, added, 'We have agreed that I will claim the crown of High King of the Noldor.'
Celeborn looked astonished. Then his brow knitted and he turned to stare at Erenion. 'Is this true?' he demanded. 'You are giving up your father's crown?'
'Correct,' Erenion said. He twirled a piece of chicken skin around the prongs of his fork.
'But Elrond is barely an adult!' Celeborn exclaimed.
'Fifty-nine summers, actually,' Erenion said. 'Age is a trifling matter anyway; Elrond is already vastly superior to me in many areas.' He popped the chicken skin in his mouth.
Elrond blinked. He was?
'Vastly... vastly superior to you?' Celeborn looked incredulous. 'He has demonstrated no such bravery as you have done in your past! When did he assist in the rescue of the Exiles at the Mouths of Sirion? When did he forge such a great alliance with Lord Círdan that the very word of their presence set relief and joy into the hearts of our allies and dread into our foes?'
Erenion bit his lip. 'That tone will have no effect on me,' he muttered. Beside Elrond, Halmir snickered. Celeborn scowled.
Erenion sobered. 'Maybe you are so passionate about the idea of my becoming High King because your own position as Lord of the Exiles of Doriath is threatened if Elrond claims Turgon's dusty old head piece.' He smiled coldly when Celeborn's face abruptly cleared. 'Humph. I thought that might be the case.'
There was an uncomfortable silence. Elrond glanced between Erenion's smug expression and Celeborn's blank expression.
'You have a much stronger following than Elrond,' Celeborn said suddenly, in a quiet voice. 'And what you say about Elrond being superior to you is rubbish. There is no substitute for experience on the battle field and in positions of leadership.'
Erenion stabbed viciously at the chicken breast. 'That is no reason to dismiss him the right to gain such experience.'
'That is a flawed argument.' Celeborn leaned back in his chair, his expression cold and placid.
'Who knows? Elrond may strengthen relations between the Exiles of Doriath and the Exiled Noldor. It is more than I can do, having no blood of Thingol in my veins.'
'Fifty years ago, I thought you wanted to be King.'
'I changed my mind.'
There was an even more uncomfortable silence. Elrond saw the servant behind Erenion swallow nervously.
Suddenly, Celeborn hissed in disgust and slammed his cutlery down on the table. 'What I do not understand,' he bit out, 'is how such a promising Prince can give up all of his aspirations. All of them! All because he was denied a single one of his dreams.'
Erenion's lip curled. 'I am not a psychologist, Celeborn,' he said. He paused and then added, snidely, 'You should ask your all-seeing wife rather than me.'
Celeborn turned white. 'If you want to go to Aman so much, why do you not kill yourself here and now? Or throw yourself into Belegaer? It is what? A hundred feet to the edge of that cliff?' he snarled. 'Or maybe you should have allowed one of those wretched Green-Elves to despatch you earlier this afternoon?'
Erenion snorted, smirked, rose, kicked back his chair, and wandered out of the room. Elrond heard him make his way up the stairs. The door to the master bedroom shut.
Back at the dining table, Celeborn looked at Halmir. 'I believe you said that you wished to leave before sunset. We should make a head start so that we reach the beach before that time.' He pushed back his chair and stood.
Halmir nodded and also stood. Elrond followed.
In the hallway, Elrond looked up at the first level landing and saw Malgalad exiting the master bedroom. The elf had a disillusioned gait in his walk and Elrond watched him ascend the next flight of stairs, which led to the second story. Elrond's gaze slid back to Erenion's bedroom door.
'Coming, Elrond?' Halmir said.
Elrond's gaze slid to Halmir, who was putting on his cloak. He hesitated. Then, with an apologetic smile, he said, 'I have something to tell his highness. Please wait a moment.' He turned and ran up the stairs.
He knocked at Erenion's bedroom door and when he heard no response, he opened the door, entered, and closed the door behind him. On turning around and surveying the room, his brow knitted when he saw Erenion sitting slumped in a chair beside the dresser, his head in his hands.
'Erenion,' he ventured nervously.
There was a gruff, 'hm?'
'I am leaving with Celeborn and Halmir now. I wanted to say goodbye,' Elrond said. He paused and then added, 'and I wanted to ask if you would like me to send a message to Lord Círdan to ask him to pick up your household. You can not stay in this house much longer, not now that you have angered your neighbours.'
Erenion snorted with amusement and looked up at him. There were tears on his face, but he looked pathetically cheerful.
'Thank you, but no,' Erenion said. 'I will write my own letters to Círdan. Take care.'
Elrond smiled, inclined his head, and turned to go. Then, a thought striking him, he turned back. 'May I ask you a question?'
Erenion nodded. 'Yes.'
'I understand that you may have lost the aspiration to become King because you were set back in your desire to travel into the West, but is that the only reason or whole reason?'
Erenion's eyes narrowed and Elrond hurriedly added, 'I meant no offence, but... but...' He lowered his eyes, copying a persuasive characteristic of Lindir's. 'But why were you refused permission to go into the West?'
When he looked up, he was astonished to see a small, thoughtful, and assuredly genuine smile on Erenion's face. Erenion's eyes had also softened.
'I was refused permission because...' Erenion paused thoughtfully. 'I was refused and told that I was expected to become High King of the Noldor.' He laughed sourly. 'Apparently it was foreseen by those in the West.'
'Is this then a form of rebelling against the Valar?' Elrond queried.
Erenion inclined his head.
Elrond snickered. Then, when a thought struck him, he frowned. 'But you do not seem to be benefiting from such a decision.'
Erenion smiled. 'Maybe.'
There was a knock on the door and Elrond heard a servant telling him that Halmir wished to leave soon.
'I will be right down!' he called. He looked back at Erenion, bowed, and then turned to go to the door.
He had just grasped the handle, when Erenion said, in a thoughtful tone of voice, 'Elrond...'
'Yes?' Elrond turned to look at him.
'Are you prepared to become High King of the Noldor? And probably the King of many of the Exiles of Doriath as well?'
Elrond sobered. 'I want to help those people and if becoming their King is the best way to do so, then so be it.'
Erenion nodded thoughtfully. 'But you do not want to becom...'
'That is irrelevant!' Elrond interrupted harshly. 'That is irrelevant now,' he added, more quietly. He looked down at the doorknob in his hand. 'I may not wish to be their King, but someone should take responsibility for them. Someone should guide them.' He silently echoed Lindir's words: We are good friends, you and I, and maybe, when you become King, relations will improve between our people because of that friendship.
Silence. He looked back up at Erenion, but Erenion was looking at the window and not at him. A small self-depreciating smile was playing over Erenion's lips.
'I will leave you now,' Elrond said. He turned to go.
And again, Erenion called him back.
'Elrond...' he said.
Elrond snickered and turned back to look at him. Then on seeing Erenion's grave expression, he sobered. 'What is it?' he asked.
'What would you do if I became King?'
Elrond's brow rose. 'Are you going to become King?'
'I have not decided. Answer my question, please.'
Elrond smiled and shrugged. 'I do not know what I would do,' he said truthfully.
'Would you, perhaps,' Erenion put the tips of his fingers together. 'Would you, perhaps, agree to help me set up a new kingdom? It will be a difficult job even should I regain the obesiance of all those who once served me and who have not travelled into the West.'
'And are you going to become King?'
'I do not know.' Erenion looked at him in expectance of an answer.
Elrond's brow knitted. 'You will have to give up your current lifestyle. There will be no more weeks spent curled up with a lover in bed.'
'I am sure that I can rearrange the schedule to permit myself such indulgences,' Erenion said dismissively. He flashed Elrond that charming, toothy grin and for a moment, Elrond half-expected Erenion to add that he, Elrond, would be welcome to join a King Erenion in bed whenever he wished.
But Erenion, somewhat to his disappointment, did not say such a thing.
After a pause, Elrond shook his head and smiled again. 'Are you going to become King or not?' he asked. 'Or am I to be bombarded with contradictory messages until the beginning of winter when I must give my answer?'
Erenion raised an index finger to tap his cheek in a remarkably familiar gesture. 'Well,' he said, 'I require something by way of encouragement.'
The End
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