Rating: R
Pairings: Elrond/Erestor/Others
Summary: 24 stormy hours in Rivendell reveal many mysteries and histories.
Feedback: Write me if you want to. I might even answer.
Notes: Uses movie and books as basic canon-with embellishments m/m, group, Readers slog on-the good stuff is buried deep ;>
Rivendell, in a time before the Great Ring's discovery...
The wind slammed the roof tiles and howled around the eaves, rattling the beams of the Great House. Banks of candles and lanterns flickered in the long dining hall as gusty drafts swept in from the corridors. The storm had assailed the buildings for a week and rain pounded the porches and walkways of the sprawling cluster of buildings that formed the city of Rivendell. For a city it truly was, and while known to insiders as the Last Homely House East of the Sea, its resident community had swelled over the ages, and select guests were often passed by the border sentries and shown the secret paths into the valley. Clusters of buildings surrounded the Great House perched over the great river, and they trailed away along the cliff sides and down into the narrow plain along the river. The long low stables were now full of the pack ponies and horses of such guests, and careful and strategic planning had gone into the assignment of guest rooms. There was little room to spare as many guests had arrived during recent days.
Excitement and commotion had accompanied the settling-in of the last group of expected guests, a party of Dwarves, who had come to trade ores and rare metals three days ago. They were placed as far down the long hallway in the guest wing from the Elven scholars from Lothlorien as possible. The fair Elven cousins were still conservative and old fashioned in their thinking in regard to Dwarves, who had long found refuge and trade opportunities in Rivendell. Exploring their lodgings, the Dwarves were a bit unsettled by the lofty ceilings and open airiness of the chambers, though some had been there before. Gwalor, the shortest of the party, took a wedge of cheese and an apple from a tray as their baggage was brought into the guest room. "Excellent, excellent," he said, as he popped the cheese into his mouth and started on the apple. "I am starved," he announced as more bags were brought into the room. Elrond, Master of Rivendell, had returned to this wing with his guests from Lothlorien. The tall and elegant figure smiled at this remark, bowed slightly to Donfur, the leader of the trade group, and bid them welcome.
The Dwarven group of five had arrived on the heels of a party of ironsmiths from Gondor. These men were from the forges and smithies there, and had come to Rivendell in search of answers to questions in armaments and armor manufacture. Dark and unsettled days along their borders had revived an interest the arts of armament and metal smithing in their city of Minas Tirith. Gandalf had arranged permission for their visit to strengthen the knowledge of that border city's people in defense and weaponry. These men were tall and broad, sound and sturdy fellows accustomed to long hours and hard work, and they were awed and amazed by the beautiful and unique environment they found themselves in now. Trying not to appear provincial, and masking their discomfort at the obvious luxury all around them, they still craned their necks to stare at some new aspect found around a corner, or seen down the stairs. They were immersed for hours in the forges of Rivendell, talking shop with the Dwarves and Elves. Their white city of Minas Tirith was an established and wealthy city of men for the most part, but it could not rival the luxuriant fabrics and materials seen everywhere, the elegant clustered buildings with their hanging porches and gardens, and the mystical valley setting of Rivendell.
The Dwarves and their pack train had arrived at the main house's paved courtyard just as the storm broke. Their baggage was unloaded hurriedly in the downpour and the pack ponies were led away to the stables with their heavy bags of special ores. Erestor, The Seneschal of Rivendell, and his main household staff had a busy time as the last rooms were assigned and baggage was unpacked and sorted. The Guest Hall Stewards were introduced and youthful pages were allocated to the guests as guides to the city.
Findalor, Master of the House Guard, and his men assisted with the gathering of baggage, and moved among the guests greeting each. They studied faces and belongings and judged characters by handshakes, all part of the security practice of the household. Erestor and his staff, the pages, guests and residents, bustled everywhere in the Great House, going about their business in the lashing rain.
The ever-bountiful valley harvest, and good hunting along the heights, ensured plenty for all. The party in from Gondor had even brought several large casks of mead as gifts for the Master of Rivendell. As the community gathered in the Great House at the sound of the evening meal bells, the normally warm and peaceful refuge continued to be racked by storms. Woven wraps and cloaks were in evidence of the chill air, even if some just lay casually along a pale neck or slipped fetchingly down a slender shoulder. A larger crowd than usual had gathered for this evening's meal, driven indoors by the third day of stormy weather. It also seemed that an extraordinary amount of outsiders were in the community now, all having arrived just before the fierce winter storm broke loose on the valley.
Thunder boomed along the steep valley sides and the rain-swollen river splashed and churned its way along the interlacing channels and outlets beneath the city's piers, carrying flood debris rolling along the swells. There was static in the air and tension too, an air of expectancy permeated the hallways and balconies as lightening flashed and thunder rolled. Nerves were on edge. Dense fog crowded the woven wooden screens that had been hung along the many outer corridors that surrounded the buildings to deflect the pounding rain. This was the first time in many years these screens had been deemed necessary, and they banged and snapped in the wind.
In the innermost rooms of the Great House however, cheerful chatter and laughter rang out. Good company prepared to enjoy hearty food in the great dinning hall, their spirits refreshed by the communal gathering for a shared meal. Fireplaces roared to combat the excessive dampness and heated air flowed along hypocaust channels, keeping the inner stonewalls and tile floors gently warm to the touch.
Elrond, dark haired Master of House, stepped up onto the dais and took his usual large chair at the end of the main table after greeting members of the community and his guests at the door. Pages had delivered the three groups of visitors to the dining hall doors as the winding walkways, many porches, and stacked clusters of buildings of Rivendell took some time to learn to navigate. Several of the Elves from Lothlorien were seated along his left, while the Dwarves noisily took their places across the table along the right side. Erestor moved smiling among those taking their seats at the long Master's table, he had taken great care to create lively parings and groupings to create interesting dinner conversation. As he passed the seat of his old comrade, Findalor, the Marshall of the Household Guard had a smile and a quip about the full house to greet him.
Elrond politely nodded and listened to the guests of honor seated to either side. His heavy embroidered robes and glittering circlet of silver Mithril enhanced his noble bearing and fine features, but he was just not himself this night. The normally serene and composed Lord of the House seemed pale and distracted this evening as the servers began to move around the hall. As far as he was concerned, this had been the never-ending day, filled with serious meetings and full of complaints. His rest had been disturbed last night by worried House Wardens concerned about the piers of the house, the flooding of the cisterns and damage to the sewers down river. He had dressed and met the engineers beneath the Great House to study the piers and plumbing intakes, and they had determined that the clearing away of the accumulated debris and careful observation was needed to prevent damage. After this bracing midnight episode in the cold wind and rain he restlessly wandered his study and bedchamber, unable to sleep. Lindefal, headed to the Master's Chambers to wake the Lord of the House for another busy day, had found him thoroughly chilled, restlessly wandering the quiet corridors of the Great House as the sun rose bleakly through the heavy fog.
Elrond rested his cheek in his hand and absently rubbed his temple in a lapse of attention. He came to himself in a pause of the conversation around him as a draft stirred his hair and fanned the wall lantern's flames into flickering sparks and shadows. He secretly cursed the headache that had plagued him throughout the day, and acknowledged his guests continued conversations with a nod. He had only come to dinner as he was out and about in the Great House already on business matters.
The decision had been made in the Inner Council last week to fold the valley down on Rivendell, through masking fog and rain, to confuse the cliffside and forest borders and hide the paths for a while. This was during a time when rough outcast men in raiding parties worried one border and multiple parties of Orcs harried the southern patrols. After this decision had been made, outlaws had attacked the Dwarves as they neared the valley along a major roadway, confirming the unsettled state of affairs outside the valley haven. So, the clouds gathered, the fog formed, and the storm set in. However, it not only set in, but also stayed on with gathering strength.
Unfortunately, unusual natural winter conditions and the adjustments made to the weather through the great ring Vilya, and other manipulations of earth magic, had combined to create wave after wave of torrential rains in a monster storm. Even after centuries of trial and success, the wielding of earth magic and the Ring of Air was an art and not a science. So there they all were, trapped inside the depths of the valley until nature abated itself. Discussing this unexpected turn of events in the Inner Council this morning, no one understood how they had misjudged the warm air sweeping in from the south as they had cooled the valley to create the fog. Scouts had reported on the shifting weather patterns, and these had been taken into account. There should have been just a day or two of heavy fog and some rain. "Enough is enough," Elrond finally told the council in a cranky manner, " Just let it sort itself out now."
The Master of the Greenhouses and the Master of the Vineyards had already complained angrily at the severity of the storm, and mud poured down the pathways and through the gardens. The House Wardens were watching the piers of the city closely as the flood crashed debris against them, and the water system for the Great House was in danger of damage by the strength of the flood. Landslides buried some cliff side trails and weakened others. The stables were full of restless horses and grooms and the residents were bored and tired of the unceasing wetness. They missed their time spent under the stars and in the glades and pathways. Strolling, dancing and trysting outdoors, their favorite pastimes had been driven inside where subtlety and privacy were not so easily gained. Digging out of this one would be the stuff of legends Erestor had thought looking around the angry faces in the council meeting. If we don't just wash away down the river that is.
Erestor now looked around at the host of cheerful diners as they settled into the meal. The privilege of dining with the Master of the House at the main table rotated among close friends and honored guests, and provided an ever changing variety of conversational partners for Elrond, as well as granting him broad exposure to news and gossip from outside the valley. He suspected he had second pick of the fairer guests if one pleased him, as Erestor used an obscure method of selecting who sat where each night. Glancing down the table at his Seneschal, Elrond remembered that even he had shared his thoughts and worries that morning on the wisdom of having too many strangers among them, however much he enjoyed the challenges they presented. Erestor rather enjoyed his duties when it came to arranging lodgings in the guest quarters and the dinner seating arrangements. These were but a few tasks among many for him, but ones he chose not to delegate. These duties offered the chance to be diplomat, politician, and depending on the various personalities of the guests, a downright prankster. And he had first contact with the guests, and knew where each lodged for the night.
As he monitored the evening's progress from his central chair at the raised main table, Erestor also kept an eye on the Master of the House, noting the pale demeanor, tired eyes and unusual restlessness in the handsome and regal figure. He frowned at the sight. Tall and elegant himself, his smooth manner and good humor revealed centuries of experience in managing Elrond, Elrond's household, and the business of Rivendell. However, he was unaware of what was bothering the Lord of the House tonight, and that disturbed him.
Glancing around the main hall he took in the colors and textures in the crowd. Elven tresses of both raven and sunlit hues were caught up in the never-ending parade of braided designs, and many of the dark braids flashed with small silver beads or clips, as was the fashion in Rivendell. The special texture of Elven hair gave it a life to itself sometimes; it glistened in the humidity of the night and moved gently in the drafts that wafted through the hall. He watched as a sliding shower of dark hair cascaded across a cheek as someone shared a joke and their partner turned aside to laugh. Elsewhere, hands clasped under the tables or rested along a neighbor's thigh, and toes sought ankles and shins in the open spaces amongst dropped napkins and delicate shoes.
Erestor noted a real mix tonight: warriors and maidens, the wise, the elegant, the ancient and the young. Most present were graced by the delicate and ethereal features of the Elven kind, a slight point to the ears, a slight tilt to the eyes, with skin as smooth and fine as marble. A lilt to the voice and a gracefulness of gesture marked those of the ancient race and the Half-Elven descendants. He admitted to the smugness he felt when surrounded by his own beautiful and cultured kind, and relished the feeling. He continued to size up the dinner crowd, noting the flirting smiles and coy looks that flew across the tables as possible partners for the evening sized each other up. Old warriors exchanged tales and jokes from days gone by, and talk about the many guests entertained the residents.
Erestor's survey of the room, his observations of a charming garment here, and a flashing jewel there, was interrupted by the passing of a basket of fruit and cheese from his left. His receiving hands lingered on the slender fingers of the Elf beside him passing the basket along. Lindefal was the Aide of the Master's Chambers for Elrond, and he managed that wing of the great house. Beyond his ancient title, his duties were extensive. He oversaw the Master's Study and Bedroom Chambers, and by extension, the attached long Library Hall. He cared for the robes and the linens of the suite. He drafted Elrond's schedule for each day and acted as secretary as well. Erestor and Lindefal were old comrades with a curious intertwining past. Now they worked side by side in managing the affairs of Rivendell and its Master. Lindefal was the best source for information on Elrond's moods and needs, however he was the soul of discretion and intensely loyal as well.
Erestor gave no firm answer to the sly smile offered him; his evening plans were unclear at this point. Anyway, old friends took these rebuffs lightly in Rivendell. As he passed the basket to his right he was met by a lingering touch and a warm smile. The flashing eyes of one of the more adventuresome ladies of the court looked his way. Her witty commentary on members of the party from Mirkwood had already caused rolled eyes and smiles; she was another possibility for an evening's entertainment. Choices, choices, choices, that is what makes life grand in Rivendell, he thought.
She smiled and turned away passing the basket along to the guest on her right, an older man in from Gondor, causing a flush on his open and honest face with her warm smile. A delicate wrist adjusted her soft green wrap around her shoulders, emphasizing the curve of her collarbones and the low cut of her dress. The simple tray continued its path hand to hand along the diners, in its progress opening opportunities well beyond the offer of nourishment to the body.
Loud jesting and wrestling broke out along the outer table where the dark twins Elladan and Elrohir and the younger members of the community had gathered. Elrond's sons were back from border patrol duty, and always popular, had attracted the youth of the community around them at mealtime. The unmistakable sound of breaking pottery came as a bench overturned with an unlucky fellow astride it. Hushed laughter and down turned heads responded to Elrond's glance in that direction-one look across the huge hall was all it took to calm the fuss amongst the Master's wayward, but beloved, sons. Aragorn, pausing his intense conversation with a recently returned scout, looked over and smiled at the commotion. Erestor noted he had at least managed to comb his hair and wear clean robes for the dinner, all knew he preferred the lonely wilds and the rough life to the ordered halls of civilization. Some knew other rough things he preferred as well.
Erestor desired the smooth and perfumed skin of own kind rather than those scarred and calloused hands; he was never one to be enticed by those of the race of men. His delicate senses required the attentions of others equally sensitive and attuned to the higher arts of flirtation and lovemaking. However Elrond's embracing of the old custom of fostering other men's sons had led to a variety of races gaining learning and manhood in Rivendell. Their schedules were the responsibility of Elrond, Glorfindel and others, Erestor pitched in with assignments on the house chores duty roster. A closed community like Rivendell required many hands working in community to keep daily affairs running smoothly.
From his seat-mid table on the main dais, the Seneschal had the best view of all present, and they had the best view of him. Ancient and wise, experienced in the kitchens, the battlefields, and the bedchamber, Erestor admitted to his vanity freely. He enjoyed his position of power and authority in Rivendell, and did this job well. He looked up as the great beams of the hall creaked under another blast of wind and the fireplace at the back of the hall sparked. A server leaned over his side with a decanter of wine to refill his glass. The firm curve revealed in the press had nothing to do with the dispensing of wine. The serving teams developed different styles and techniques to make dining an enjoyable visual event as well, and their attention to the diners often revealed a firm thigh, a delicate wrist or a comely smile in the process.
Looking down the table again he pondered the strange mood the Master of the House displayed this evening. He pursed his lips as he noticed that his efforts tonight in the seating arrangements were seemingly unappreciated. The party of Elves from Lothlorien was seated along the left of the main table; scholars come to consult ancient manuscripts in Rivendell's vast library holdings. While haughty and aloof from their darker cousins, their interest in the lore of the past should have sparked Elrond's love of learning and research and drawn out his interest. He had already spent days shoulder to shoulder with them in the long Library Hall, pouring over rolled parchments and ancient books. Their serene faces and pale golden hair made them stand out in the dark crowd of Rivendell's population. They both attracted and repelled their distant brethren.
Among these Elves sat the youthful Legolas, along with that company for his first look at Rivendell. He was visiting Lothlorien from Mirkwood, and had welcomed a chance to see more of the world. The candlelight particularly favored his handsome and even features, but it may have been his closeness to the hanging chandelier thought Erestor. A lock of pale hair escaped his ear and he tucked it back up with a neat and graceful sweep of the hand. Elrond glanced over and watched this action with little response. Was the man blind, Erestor thought? He smiled to himself-Legolas would be one to watch as he matured. He shook his head again with a wry smile and continued to survey the guests.
Along the right side of the main table were several Dwarves. Candlelight glinted off of their armor-did they ever wear anything else? Well, at least they removed their helmets to dine, and those great bushy beards, Erestor gave a slight shudder at the thought of it. Their party was in Rivendell mainly to trade in ores and metals, and to discuss news of the increasing dangers along the roadways. They had surprisingly expressed interest in learning more of the legend of the Lost Mine of Durin upon their arrival, and had split their time between the forges and the library. Now they dined with gusto and verve, and enjoyed goblets of foaming ale while once more describing their bloody but successful rout of a party of bandits along the outermost border of Rivendell. Descriptions of their struggles were graphic and maybe not the best dinner conversation in polite company. This was a mix of guests certain to entertain and enlighten, and they had already sparked a few boisterous remarks of mostly good-natured jest. Erestor wondered why the mix had failed to click with Elrond.
While Elrond smiled and nodded at the conversations swirling around him, he merely picked at the food on his plate, and toyed with the delicately crafted silver fork. He leaned back and rolled the stemmed glass of pale wine absent mindedly back and forth in his long fingers without tasting it. His lithe body shifted under the heavy robes and he leaned this way and that, unsettled. As comparisons of the recent journeys to Rivendell were exchanged among the honored guests, the veiled smoky look in his dark green eyes and the mask of office seated firmly on his face hinted he was far away from the conversation indeed.
These fine details of discomfort were discernable only to those who knew the Master of the House well, and Erestor looked to Lindefal, who shook his head slightly and shrugged, as rolling thunder boomed through the hallways. He too had noticed the detachment of their Lord amongst cheerful company. Erestor, a member the innermost council, was aware of the complaints and unhappiness about the storm in the community; many were concerned about its unpredicted strength and ferocity. Was that what worried Elrond now? He smiled at an old friend across the room, in answer to a wink and a nod asking for a partner for the evening, but again he hesitated to commit himself just yet. Her lady's leg pressed his, and the delicate massage of his ankle by her velvet clad foot was getting a reaction from him.
Servers moved among the crowd, wine was poured, plates were collected, and the meal drew to a slow close. An evening of singing and tales in the Hall of Fire was announced and greeted with murmurs of support and pleasure. Everyone was feeling cabin fever after the dark and gloomy days of rain. Couples and parties rose and moved to the hall across the way for the evening's entertainment. The dark corners of the Hall of Fire invited contented hand holding, snuggling, and tryst planning while surrounded by the intoxicating music, which swirled and wove spells around memories and events past.
Elrond rose and moved away from the table, excusing himself from his guests. He was determined to make an escape from the crowd and head to his chambers for an early evening. Thinking to himself he must be more tired than he realized, he thought that the normally enjoyable evening meal had been especially trying tonight. He had no desire for entertainment of any sort this evening, no heart to hear the old tales and beautiful clear singing voices in the Hall of Fire. And, while he could usually find someone tempting, either male or female as his whim dictated, for a game of chess or an idle dalliance, tonight was not the not the night for it. There was no interest at all in games, or idle conversation, or the frivolities of flirtation and dalliance. He watched the backside of a server as he bent to retrieve a dropped napkin, taking no real pleasure in the curve of the cheek thus exposed.
None of the beautiful, exotic and glittering crowd had caught his fancy that evening. No clinging robe, no curve of a breast, no sparkling jewel, no sweet smile or strong jaw line, no delicate wisp of hair had sparked his interest. Well, maybe that golden child from Mirkwood, he thought. That one was a natural charmer with no doubt.
Elrond's detached look was turning to a frown and he passed a hand tiredly across his brow as he turned to leave the dining hall. He was stopped by a tentative touch on the arm and the polite clearing of a throat. He turned to see a tall man standing there, dressed in heavy velvet robes. Elrond recognized Banidur, the head of the party from Gondor, who had come to consult the Elven smiths on matters of armor manufacture. This was itself unusual, and their conversations the night before at dinner on the weaknesses of armor joints and the strength of metal alloys had been of some interest to Elrond. The man was intelligent and knowledgeable on the subject, and had an endearing openness about him. His large brown eyes were expressive and had flecks of gold that caught the light. His son favored him, and had also been an informed and interested dining partner.
"I hope you had a beneficial time at the forges today" Elrond remarked. The man's broad sunburned features broke into a smile and his warm brown eyes glowed.
While he was slightly past prime, and had the cares of an administrator on his shoulders and across his brow, he had relaxed considerably in just a few days in Rivendell. He was robust and the heavy robes barely concealed the strong arms and body beneath. "Yes, yes, yes," He said, "With the new ores coming in we had an opportunity to work with the Dwarves today, a rare treat. But that was not what I wanted to speak with you about this evening." Elrond turned, reached back and picked up his wine glass, and a nearby server offered one to Banidur with a smile and a nod.
The pale amber fluid sparkled in the flickering lights. Delicate designs etched into the glasses swirled around the goblets and flashed rainbows. Too bad the vintage does not match the glass Elrond thought absently. Erestor came by and placed a concerned hand on Elrond's raised arm. With a questioning squeeze he silently inquired if he was needed, or wanted, for the evening. Elrond smiled and nodded no, and wished his old friend good evening. There was some disappointment there, but no surprise. "Shall I check on you later My Lord?" he asked. Again, there was a nod of no. Well, it was to the Hall of Fire then, and the final rounds of the evening later. Erestor sighed as he turned away.
Banidur, unwilling to lose his chance to visit again with the retreating Master of the House, said, "I have come tonight to ask your secrets in managing the youth of Rivendell." Elrond's eyebrows rose and a confused smile played across his face, "Our youth?" Visions of trying to manage the intelligent, restless, and boisterous youthful population of Rivendell flashed across his mind. Keeping them busy was the key to success, he thought. Banidur rubbed his chin and shook his head," I have heard of the many mysterious and amazing wonders of Rivendell, and truth be told did not believe them all, but I am changing my mind now." Elrond stood patiently, and sipped his wine wondering where this was headed. The dull throbbing headache that he had carried most of the day continued unabated, the normal herbal remedies were not working at all.
"Well yes, you see...I, um..." Embarrassed, Banidur started again. "I understand you are a father also," he stated. Elrond nodded and gestured, watching his sons jostle and jest with a group of others along the aisle on their way to the door. They were on the brink of manhood, yet still enjoyed the rowdy pastimes of youth. He worried about their development and how it continued to be affected by the events surrounding the rescue of their mother from the band of Orcs who had ambushed her party years ago.
Fiercely devoted to their mother, they were unstoppable in their search for her, and their massacre of the guilty Orcs was reported to have been savage beyond comprehension. Driven witless with fear for her safety and by their own helplessness in caring for her, they had slowly returned home with their mother moaning on a makeshift litter. She was beaten, bruised and violated, and unable to move. Elrond had raced ahead to meet them as the two search parties rejoined on the main road. He leapt from his horse running forward and his twin sons had fallen into his outstretched arms with exhausted sobs. Holding them close he looked horrified at his beautiful wife unconscious on the litter, not knowing if she was dead or alive.
In Rivendell, finally home, Celebrian had lain unconscious for days, her luxurious blond hair hacked off crudely, her beautiful face scratched and swollen from abuse. Her many cuts and infections were healed over time with loving and careful attention from her husband, but she shunned any touch thereafter, and rarely spoke again. The horrors of her captivity overcame her gentle spirit and she took leave of her family to sail across the Western Sea to find some form of peace. The boys grew old overnight on that rescue, and they evidenced a fearsome purpose now when they rode the perimeter with the border guards.
Yet tonight they seemed their old selves. Some indoors sword practice and wrestling was needed to tap that excessive energy he thought to himself, mentally making a note to have Glorfindal arrange a vigorous training session for them and their friends. I might even have to referee a bit of wrestling myself he thought. The exercise taught that age group strategy, and he was able to develop an understanding of their characters though close observation of the activity. And, he had always enjoyed watching the controlled struggle of sweat-slicked bodies on the edge of their prime. A strong grasp slipping away along a shoulder, the tightly inter-twined legs, the thump of bodies slamming the mats...he came to himself again as Banidur continued.
"You know I came with my son, and while he is a good lad, for his age that is, he is a real handful and his mother and I barely manage to keep him in check". Elrond smiled and laid a warm hand on the man's shoulder, "Sons are indeed a gift and a trial, however you should try to raise a headstrong daughter for a real challenge." He was glad for once that Arwen was with her grandmother; this rain would not have contained her energies. She could out ride and out climb her older brothers, and had been pulled off of rooftop escapades more than once. The loss of her mother had been internalized, and she excelled at physical sports, becoming more and more self-sufficient and independent as she grew older. Galadriel disapproved of all this activity and cared for Arwen in Lothlorien much of time now, ensuring she learned the gentle arts of the needle and loom as well as those of the saddle and sword.
His sad family past flashed through his mind quickly. As he rested his hand on Banidur's shoulder his senses automatically felt the stiffness of the embroidered robe, and he was aware of the deep red color of the velvet. The fabric had curious silver embroideries in the weave and finely worked fabric for the collar and cuffs. Elrond was always appreciative of the beauty of his surroundings, and of new designs in any medium, even with his annoying headache. But the sensations were dulled somehow. He must be more tired and disturbed about the day's complaints than he realized. The garment had the musty smell of storage in it, and Banidur was not comfortable in it. He noted the man's work roughened hands and sunned skin. This was a man of the outdoors and the workplaces, not of the council chambers. Smiling Elrond wished Banidur good evening and turned to leave again. Discomforted, Banidur said, "I noticed you were leaving, do you mind if I walk with you some of the way? I have not seen much of Rivendell since I arrived." Elrond gave a slight affirmative nod and gestured to the door.
Most of the diners had proceeded across to the Hall of Fire and were settling in for an evening of music and remembrance. Others headed homewards down the rain-splashed corridors to warm beds and loving comrades. Elrond and Banidur passed into the hallway and turned to the left as the parties whose turn it was to tidy the dining hall went to work laughing and jesting. Banidur looked back in curiosity at this as they walked down the hallway. Elrond smiled and said, "We take turns here in many daily tasks; all share their skills to serve the community. Guests are always welcome to add their skills to the mix while here as well."
"That is precisely what I wanted to talk to you about!" Banidur declared. "My son told me tonight he was washing dishes! I could hardly believe my ears. My wife will think I have lost my mind when I tell her of this!" He continued, "That boy thinks the floor is where we store clothes, that horses are to be ridden until frothed and that all household rules are made to be broken!" Elrond, already resigned to missing an early bedtime, genuinely chuckled at this parental state of mind and replied with sly look, "The kitchens and pantries at Rivendell are indeed magical places, and much more than the preparation of food goes on there. What better place to be with pretty maids than where they can roll up their sleeves and tuck up their skirts?" He continued with a smile noting Banidur's growing discomfort at this idea. "Dampened leggings and tunics reveal much that entices the eye also. Leaning over washtubs can reveal many charms while trips to the cellars and pantries allow time for a stolen kiss. Shall we pass by and see how the chores get done? The main pantry is just below the dining hall, and these stairs will take us there." Banidur's eyebrows rose as he considered this liberal line of thought. The children of good families in Minas Tirith were closed watched and guided carefully through the trials of adolescence.
The downward curving stone stairs with their delicately carved and inlaid designs were slick and damp with rain that had blown through the screens, and the wind was chill along the outer walkways. Elrond took Banidur's arm in his, and the 2 fathers descended carefully, amiably chatting about the trials of parenthood in these darkening days. Both were impressed by the strength each felt beneath the other's stately robes, and idle thoughts passed through Elrond's mind. Of course a blacksmith would have strong arms and great upper body strength he mused. The man's large and calloused hands and thick fingers were laced with scars. A tingle crept along Elrond's spine as he imagined other uses for those fingers rather than wielding a hammer on an anvil. He smiled a warm smile at Banidur as the shudder crept through him. Elrond remembered the gold-flecked brown eyes at dinner last night, interested and intelligent as they spoke of many things, and he noticed that a short gray curl had escaped to lay unruly across his forehead. He wanted to reach over and tuck it back in place, but they had brought their wine glasses along and he was comfortably settled arm and arm. He gestured to the doorway they were looking for. Banidur simply wondered what sort of strange place they had wandered into. He was very sure his wife would not approve.
They entered the doorway and started down a dimly lit hall to a place where warm light spilled onto the floor through an arch. They were frozen in their tracks by a great splashing and shouts of warning and laughter. Elrond looked at his guest and remarked, "This may not be the best face we have to put forward to our guests, but the dishes do get washed." Seemingly on cue, his youngest son Ellrohir stumbled out to collide with the wall and slide downwards, soaking wet, while covering his head with crossed arms.
This mysterious behavior resolved itself when a volley of bread rolls flew out the door after him, with cheers and calls of points scored. Elrond stood and sipped his tasteless wine, trying to preserve his demeanor and not to smile at his youngest son's defeat in the bread wars. Ellrohir sat dripping and spread legged amidst the bread missiles, looking at his father with pleading eyes. Banidur's tall and lanky son came forward into the light to lend Ellrohir a hand. He froze with hand outstretched when he noticed the tall and stately elders watching them. A look of complete horror and amazement had spread across Banidur's face. Erestor came in at the other end of the hallway and chuckled at the scene. "Father, I can explain." came two voices in chorus.
Banidur stepped forward and assisted Ellrohir up, brushing him off and straightening his tunic with a firm tug. "Is this how they wash the dishes in Rivendell?' he asked his son. "I see more water on you and the floor than on the dishes." More stuttered explanations followed until Elrond set his wine glass down on a nearby table, and grasped the tall boys by the necks, turning them with strong hands back into the pantry. Erestor came in behind, lifting his robes away from the sudsy water on the floor. He reached up on a shelf and gathered two glasses and a bottle of wine. He turned to watch the scene unfold.
Surveying the youthful crowd collected around large washtubs full of suds and warm water, Elrond crossed his arms and looked every inch the stern taskmaster. The dishwashing volunteers, gathered under the amused watch of the kitchen staff, turned flushed faces obediently to the Master of the House. "Not a drop of water left on the floor, not another plate broken. Agreed?" His raised eyebrows were met with a chorus of "Yes sirs" and "No sirs." He gave a special look to each of his dark eyed sons. Banidur noted the kitchen staff were still smiling, perched on stone countertops amongst bags of flour and grain, well away from the splashing. These resident baby sitters toasted the elder pair with mugs of ale and grins. Others moved in and out the doorway busy at their tasks. Erestor picked his way through the crowd, and with a wave of the two glasses and smile retreated back down the hallway. Banidur nodded slowly and as they resumed their walk along the hallway he remarked, "Yes, the pantries of Rivendell are remarkable places indeed." Elrond nodded yes with a laugh. A crash of broken dishes, a splash and a scream from Elladan echoed down the hallway, signaling the younger brothers revenge on his older sibling.
"I take it your potteries are quite extensive?" Banidur asked without missing a beat.
The two fathers arrived back at the guest wing of the house and Elrond wished Banidur good eve with another pat on the shoulder and grasp of the arm. Some of the Dwarves had arrived in the guest wing at the same time, singing merry drinking songs and bidding all in earshot good eve. Donfur, their leader, was particularly cheery, and the group passed through the doors to their guest chambers. Elrond nodded to Elves passing along the outer corridors in a hurry to escape the damp and chill of the exposed walkways. A crack of lightening and a renewed downpour sent him walking briskly to his own chambers. Damp and cold now, he remained chagrinned at the turn of events weather wise, how had they miscalculated so badly? He mused that it might even snow in Rivendell's valley for the first time in memory. He would never hear the end of it if it did.
He pulled his outer robe tighter to his body and hurried up the myriad curving steps and into his study. Screens had been hung across the high and wide-open windows and they whipped and cracked in the wind. He wearily mounted the stairs leading to his loft bedchamber. Lindefal came forward and took the now damp outer robe away to hang for drying. Elrond saw that his bath had been prepared and was steaming in the cool air, and the upper chamber fireplace was roaring and snapping with fragrant wood. The tray of fruit and cheese from the last evening sat by his favorite chair by the fire, and he moved over to warm his backside. He carved a slice of cheese and a curve off of a pear, and stood eating the paired treat thoughtfully. He could not be getting ill he thought, men had these unsettling illnesses, not Elves. He poured a cup of mead from the jug there and sliced another wedge of cheese. It seemed to taste better last night he thought, I am too tired to even eat. Elrond, normally self-sufficient, allowed himself to be undressed without a twinge of guilt tonight. He felt odd and compliant for some reason, and just plain tired. The dull pain throbbed behind his eyes and in his temples. Lindefal removed the layers of robes and unlaced the leggings carefully as Elrond finished his bite of cheese.
Lindefal wondered if he was the pleasure of the evening tonight, as no one else had accompanied Elrond here, and signals at dinner were unclear. Caring for the rich garments and personal needs of his beloved Master of the House sometimes went beyond the mending of a torn hem or the dressing of elegant braids. He was prepared to stay the night, and had already cleared the morning schedule for the next day, to allow Elrond some rest. He looked pale and drawn, and the normally sparkling eyes were tired and dark. Lindefal moved about the chamber in evening preparations, walked over and removed the Mithril circlet from Elrond's head, and took it to its stand on the dresser. Gentle and relaxing play was the order of the evening he thought, lusty romps could wait for other times.
As Lindefal set the circlet on the dresser Elrond noticed the packet of powders that made the tea for curing headaches there also, and wondered if he could dare more, having tried a larger dose than usual already in frustration at the dull ache behind his eyes. His vision was a bit blurry now and it was well past time for bed he thought. He stepped out of his loosened leggings and soft leather shoes and turned towards the beckoning steam. Deciding against another try with the cure, he muttered, "Healer, heal thyself with a warm bath."
Elrond approached his long wooden bath basin, and eased himself gingerly into the scented hot water. Wisps of steam curled upwards, snaking in the gusts that wafted through as the wind swept rattling along the sides and rooftops of the chambers. He gasped as the heat of the water caused a shudder to pass along his spine and the blood to rush from his head, but the encompassing warmth was welcome 'Lindefal," he growled, is this water hot enough do you think?" he asked sarcastically. "Wuss," answered his aide as he gathered up the discarded trousers and shoes. "You need it, just lay back and relax," he continued as he hung the damp garments to dry and set the shoes in their place.
As Elrond slowly became accustomed the heat of the water, he thought back over the press of events the last week. The arrival of three parties of visitors, the raids along the borders, the summoning of the storm and its unexpected severity, and the damage done to the city all weighed heavily on his mind. Elrond had failed to be his own good doctor and assess his health carefully as his days and nights had been filled with demands for his attention. After all, he scolded himself; you are one of the healers of the community. What sort of example are you setting now? The students in the school of medicine that met in the extensive greenhouses often benefited from his centuries of accumulated knowledge, but now, he was just too tired to think. As he lay back in the bath to soak in the scented water he lifted the long braid and thick mane of hair outwards and laid his neck on a rolled cloth, closing his eyes. The scent of balsam and other ferny flavors released in the steam was relaxing.
Lindefal removed his own tunic, pulled a small bench to the head of the bath and sat down. He gently removed the silver clips and beads and skillfully unbraided the long dark hair hanging down the side of the carved wooden panels. He parted the thick mane into sections and, with great care, began work out the tangles of the day. Highlights and shadows rippled and swirled in the lantern light as the long dark hair slipped though the delicate comb. With a sigh Elrond thought he might be finally finished with the never-ending day. The soothing motion of the comb calmed his mind somewhat. Released from the constraints of fashion, the thick hair waved and flowed in the static air with a life of its own. Stroke after slow easy stroke passed through the strands until they cascaded like a silken waterfall through Lindefal's fingers. He combed it rhythmically for some time to try to calm the tension on Elrond's brow.
The dark hair now tangle free and glistening, Lindefal pulled it one side and moistened his hands in the silky water. He began to massage the tired neck and shoulder muscles before him. Elrond sat up and dropped his head forward with a deep moan as the pressing thumbs and searching fingers moved relentlessly through knots of bunched muscles. Lindefal worked at the tension steadily until the tightness along the neck and shoulders started to relax. Drawing closer and pulling Elrond back to rest against the basin, he kissed an ear tip, licked along the delicate outer edge and then dragged his lips gently down Elrond's neck, teasing him with soft breaths. He pushed sudsy palms slowly down Elrond's chest and stomach, and then gently raked arched fingertips upward across ribs and nipples. The wind howled and drove hard rain against the roof tiles.
Elrond closed his eyes and sighed. Lindefal moved forward to slide his outstretched fingers down into the water along muscular sides. Moving in slow circles across the chest and muscular stomach the fingers traced the faintest of fading scars from ancient wars that were still there, now seen as ghostly streaks. No shirker in any battle, Elrond had received his share of hacking blows. Moving the heavy hair aside again, Lindefal kissed a puckered pale line surrounded by dimples on the back curve of the left shoulder. Angry sword points pushing through chain mail left grievous wounds. Even the best Elven armor could be breeched by the weapons of the evil host. More than a few others knew every scar's location, and had comforted the pale slashes with kisses and caresses. Elrond's combination of strength and valor, matched with wisdom and compassion, was a deep attraction to many.
Searching, probing fingers slipped back into the water and caressed the back of the ribcage and around to the hips. Lindefal's long hair slid across Elrond's neck and shoulder as he tracked a trail of kisses and bites down his neck and chest. A growing warmth began to spread in his groin and Elrond stirred under Lindefal's expert touch. However the headache was winning the war of the senses, and he shifted uneasily, torn between the pleasure and the pain. Lindefal whispered into his ear promising relief as his firm fingers stroked and teased under the warm water. "Is it the storm?" Elrond asked aloud as thunder rolled across the valley and the shutters on his windows rattled and banged. Lindefal looked up in surprise and asked "What, My Lord?" Elrond rubbed his face and tired eyes with warm wet hands and replied, "Nothing, it is nothing. I am sorry, it is just this headache..." Lindefal kissed the dark eyes closed, brushed parting lips and resumed the massage, thinking that this could take a while.
"My Lord Elrond!" loud voices called up the stairs. Both sat upright, straight and alert. Elrond's name was called again, and heavy boots clattered up the loft stairs.
Findalor pounded to the top of the stairs, followed by several of the House Guards, all of them breathless and soaking wet. He was holding a muddy leather bag and a bloody knife with a curved bladed. "My lord", he gasped as he caught his breath, and took in the evening ritual scene. "I am sorry to disturb you, My Lord, but Gwalor, of the company of Dwarves, has been murdered on the South Porch!" Lindefal handed Elrond a cloth to dry with as he rose from the bath dripping. Elrond grasped Lindefal's arm as he stepped over the edge of the basin and he whispered with a wry smile, "I owe you" before the aide turned and sought out a short tunic and clean leggings. As the soaked Marshall of the House Guard quickly filled in the details water pooled on the tile floor. Elrond yanked on his loose leggings and stepped back into his low slippers. He was lacing himself up as they descended the loft steps in a press and a clatter. More of the Household Guard was gathered outside his chamber doorway and there were Elves moving along the lower walkways in curious response to the shouts. "Bring Donfur to the South Porch," he calmly requested. Guards moved away to carry out his wishes as he accepted a heavy cloak to block the rain, and headed for the far end of the Great House at a run.
The wooden screens slapped and rattled against the railings of the South Porch where they had been broken loose from their securing ties. The dwarf was there, face down, his arms outstretched across the porch tiles. His throat had been slashed from behind, along the right side. While not a pretty sight at any time, it seemed more than horrible on the elegant and graceful tiled floor of the porch overlooking the waterfalls. Raindrops dimpled the red stain spreading across the tiles. The woven screens flapped in and out and rain soaked them all in the windy gusts. Findalor held up the bag and catching the whipping screen, pointed to a figure face down on the banks of the river.
The crumpled body was barely visible, lit by flickering torches held by more of the guards. The storm snatched at his words as he shouted that he had come upon the scene as the thief had approached Gwalor from behind, grabbed his heavy beard and turned the head to the left, while slashing across the throat from the right. The man had shoved something into the bag, pushed out the wooden screen and leapt off the high porch. The unlucky jump onto the rocky bank had turned into a fall that had broken his neck and killed him. Elrond leaned out into the storm and wondered if anyone could make the jump from the lofty balcony on the best of days.
The Dwarves arrived at a run and expressed their horror and dismay loudly as they saw the truth before them. Elrond knelt and checked Gwalor, and announced sorrowfully, "He is gone." Words of consolation and concern were shared with the shocked guests as this news set in. Hair and cloaks whipped madly in the wet gale as Elrond and Findalor determined that they had seen all that could be seen on the porch. With a nod from Findalor, Elrond gave orders for all to retreat to the library, and the House Guards gently gathered up the fallen guest to bear him there as well. Gestures indicated to the guards below to bring up the dead thief as well.
In the library wine was poured for all and the fire was built up while lanterns were lit for the sad proceedings. Gwalor was laid along a long table and covered in a white cloth while words of respect and sorrow were said over his body in the Dwarven fashion. The thief lay face down in a growing puddle of rainwater on the floor near the door while guards were sent to fetch Banidur to identify the man. The thief had been recognized as being one from the party of Gondor. Erestor arrived in a flurry of sleeping robes, disheveled from being roused from a chamber not his own by the disturbance. He took the scene in with a gasp and a frown. There had not been a murder in Rivendell in ages the thought. Too many strangers about he muttered, but then worried immediately about the other guests in his care. "Is anyone else hurt" he asked. Guards left to gather this information for the Seneschal.
The Elves from Lothlorien arrived in the library with Legolas in tow. They gathered by the doorway, out of the way, and observed quietly. Banidur rushed in next with others of his party and looked at the confused scene with sleepy incomprehension. As he shrugged into his clothing Elrond noticed he had been correct in guessing about the man's upper body strength. Muscles rippled and flowed as he gathered the shirt and fastened it. Banidur stepped back startled as he saw the figure lying on the floor. He nervously explained to the gathered company that the man had joined his party at the last moment, having worked in the forges of Gondor for a short time, but showing great skill at his trade. Under closer questioning it was determined that no one in the party knew him well, or knew of his family.
The enquiry of the night's events continued, with Elrond settling into his role as judge and examiner without thought. He carefully emptied the leather bag on one of the library tables and six small glass vials of clear liquid rolled out first. They were capped with wax and tied with the thin red linen string that denoted poison to those knowledgeable in such things. A short knife, a bag of coins and a parchment packet were then laid out under the lantern's light. Findalor moved to inspect the items and reached for a vial, but Elrond gently closed his fingers over the other's hand and pushed it away, murmuring, "The contents cannot be wholesome in this situation." Findalor nodded and withdrew his hand. He moved to the hallway to post guards and sent others to reassure the guests and gathered residents along the hallways.
Elrond carefully unwrapped the packet and laid out a drawn map. It was a parchment page torn in four sections. The seams were carefully stitched together along the torn edges with fine thread. There were 3 ragged pieces there, but it was missing the crucial forth section where the inked roads converged. Blood was smeared along one side, and the spots and stains of time told of its age. Dwarvish runes marked the roads and mountains, and formed the legend down the side. "Anyone recognize this?" Elrond asked the assembled company.
Banidur denied ever seeing it and protested he did not read Dwarvish runes. Findalor and Erestor both shrugged no and all eyes shifted to the Dwarves, who shuffled a bit under the intense scrutiny. Abandoning an outraged front, Donfur admitted, "All right, it is our map, stolen from Gwalor. His recent discovery of the third piece of the map gave us the interest in the old legends of the Lost Mine of Durin. As we were already coming to trade, we agreed to bring Gwalor and his map along in case you knew more of the legend." Elrond rubbed his tired eyes and nodded. He ran his hands through his dark mane of hair, now a wild and tangled mass from the blowing wind and rain. He gave it a quick twist to hold it back and stuck a silver stylus from the library table into the knot to secure it. He sat down slowly in an armchair and dropped his head, rubbing his chin and lips in deep thought. He nibbled a finger side in the habit he had when sorting many details into clarity. The sound of the fire was the only sound, and no one moved for some time.
"Do you hear that?" Elrond asked. The others looked slowly at each other, at the figure on the floor, and the figure under the draped cloth, and then at the contents of the bag spread across the table." Hear what my lord?" asked Erestor, now smoothing his own hair and robes, trying to make himself tidy as befit his station. Findalor had already jabbed him in the ribs for his late arrival and flushed condition as he had explained the night's events to the chief manager of the household. Erestor peered closely at Elrond, still concerned for his friend, and the others waited breathlessly to hear what they did not hear.
"The rain" said Elrond, "The rain has stopped."
There was a round of expressed sighs and the release of held breaths. "The Rain?" asked Donfur, "Just what has the rain to do with this?" "Maybe something, maybe nothing at all" replied Elrond. "Yet I, for one, am glad of the silence for a change." This broke the spell that gripped them all and there was shuffling and scraping while chairs were pulled around and some sought seating along the wall benches. Aides brought jugs of warm mulled wine, and bread and cheese from the kitchen. Findalor gave Erestor an incredulous look at this, and Erestor mouthed silently "Well, I'm hungry." He took a mug of warm wine and a slice of bread and cheese and moved to stand near the fire. The others waited for the next developments in rapt curiosity.
Carefully wrapping a cloth around a vial, Elrond held it away from him with outstretched arms, and cautiously pierced the wax with a silver pen tip. No visible vapor escaped and the liquid did not change on contact with the air. He risked a distant and careful sniff, muttering to himself. He closed his eyes, mentally reviewing known herbal poisons and natural drugs, and exploring their possible mixes to create the liquid in the vial. His encyclopedic knowledge of these details had been built over many centuries of study, yet the answers seemed distant to his grasp now. Finally nodding that he was satisfied he had a reasonable guess for the drug's identity, he carefully placed the open vial in a nearby glass, added the silver pen, and set the container aside for safe removal later.
The flickering firelight played across Elrond's pale features and slender fingers as he cupped his chin in thought. A flush was spreading across his cheeks and a glistening sweat formed along his brow. The measured candles were burning past halfway as the midnight hour had passed and they were headed towards the cold predawn hours. "Gwalor was not at dinner tonight was he?" he asked. He remembered the Dwarves lusty enjoyment of their feast, and did not remember the short Dwarf at the table. "No," Donfur said. "He had eaten from the cheese and fruit on the trays in our rooms, and he was not hungry as the evening bells rang. He was excited about the discovery of the third piece of the map and wished to study it again." Donfur shrugged.
Elrond's unusually dark eyes glittered as he squinted and thought, his mind shifting though possibilities. He felt he should be making some connection here, but the details escaped him, dancing out of reach like the stars that danced along the edge of his vision. His eyes fell on the small tray of bread and cheese and he stared for some time at the crusty round loaf and yellow wedge with a knife stuck in it. Realizing he could not feel his lip or chin as he cupped his face, he reached to a nearby tray and withdrew another silver pen. Slowly he dragged the stylus along his forefinger, and paused to draw blood at the tip. He studied the red drops forming along the scratch. Erestor and Findalor exchanged worried glances; they had seen stranger things in Rivendell than this behavior, but not by much.
Blotting the cut, Elrond ventured an idea. "Did he eat bread and cheese last night as well?" "Yes, he did," replied Donfur, "There was an ample hospitality tray in our rooms. He was hungry when we arrived, he ate of everything on the tray. In fact he ate off the trays each night we have been here." Looking towards Banidur, Elrond asked, "And was there a fruit tray in your guest rooms?" Banidur looked about the gathered faces nervously and replied, "Yes. But we did not partake of anything there, wishing to enjoy the fabled repast of dinner at Rivendell." He looked at his son who shook his head no and shrugged. The leader of the party from Lothlorien and Legolas stood in the doorway listening gravely, and after a brief discussion amongst themselves they volunteered that none of their group had tasted items from their trays. Elrond looked at his Seneschal, leaning against the fireplace with bread and wine in hand and asked "Erestor, who prepared the trays for the guest wing?"
Embarrassed at this lapse in control Erestor stood up straight and replied, "I do not have a name, My Lord, tasks were assigned to many in the rush to house all our guests." He lapsed into formally under the steady gaze. Elrond nodded. 'And were the guests informed of the practice of assisting with household chores if they wished to?" The Seneschal nodded, "Yes, as always is our custom. Remember Banidur's son volunteered to wash dishes tonight when he discovered your sons were on that detail." Glancing at the thief's body he imagined that the man could have mingled with and assisted the kitchen staff easily, one more pair of hands to help with the needs of a busy guest wing.
Gesturing to the body on the floor, Elrond said, "This man must have had had knowledge of the map's new piece when he became part of the party traveling here.' This abrupt abandonment of the food discussion caught everyone by surprise. At the indignant harrumphing of Banidur, and protests of secrecy from the Dwarves, Elrond held up his hand. "He was a good ironsmith, and you needed his knowledge. Who would have thought to check further?" Elrond picked up the razor sharp smaller knife from the table and stepped over to the body by the door. Firmly grasping the man's leggings, he cut a slit from waist to knee and tore the fabric apart. Tattoos and scarred patterns covered the man's thigh and buttocks.
He nodded to himself muttering and then announced to the gathering, "These are the tattoos of the Southern Thieves' Guild. These marks answer some of the questions we have." Erestor's brow furrowed at the thought of applying permanent markings to the skin, and Legolas stepped closer in fascination for a better look. His first trip to Rivendell had become very instructional indeed. Banidur grew pale at the sight.
Elrond returned to his seat and laid the knife down by the map. He took a deep breath. "I suspect that this man went to Gondor and worked in the forge there to learn more after he heard of the discovery of the missing piece. Legends of rare metals and lost mines are the stuff of interest for smiths everywhere. By his skills and good luck he managed to get invited along on the journey here, still seeking information about the map." Elrond looked around for reactions. Banidur was looking distinctly embarrassed as the explanation continued. "The Thieves' Guild has many arms and many ears, in all the races. News of the discovery of a section of the map would have passed among them like wildfire, regardless of how closely the secret was kept. Donfur, it was probably members of the guild who attacked you on the road." Donfur nodded in understanding and the others muttered among themselves. "You were all together in the forge; perhaps Gwalor let slip an incautious remark, or was seen with the map in hand. The thief must have wished to weaken Gwalor so he could seize the map for himself, and we all heard his admiration of the fruit and cheese when he first arrived here."
Gesturing to the tray of cheese and fruit before him, he continued. "Unable to determine which trays would affect the Dwarves, he must have poisoned all the items for the guest trays several days ago, and he watched and waited. After several poisoned meals he thus had deadened the senses of Gwalor, which enabled him to be attacked from behind like he was." Nods of comprehension started among the Dwarves and Findalor sent guards racing to the guest wing to retrieve the trays and their contents before more damage was accidentally done. Erestor turned pale and threw his bread and cheese into the fire. He quickly, but delicately, spit out the bite in his mouth into a cloth and that followed into the flames. He stepped away from the fireplace wiping his hands on his robes. "In fact," Elrond continued, " I imagine that Gwalor was already dying as he was attacked, he was too weak resist at that point."
Understanding nods met this statement. "I speak of this as I myself have felt the unsettling effects of the drug today. It is one, I believe, that affects the nerves and dulls the senses. It is sometimes used as an anesthetic, however it is very unstable and can be toxic in small portions. You are all lucky you did not enjoy the hospitality of Rivendell's guest rooms to a greater extent," he said dryly. Findalor and Erestor exchanged horrified looks in dawning knowledge and Erestor stepped to the table in concern laying a hand on Elrond's shoulder and looking at him searchingly. Findalor dispatched guards at a run to fetch the medical staff. Elrond waved Erestor back with a faint smile. Drips of rain from the many eaves of the house pattered on the porches.
Elrond glanced at the Dwarves then smoothed his hair over his temples and palmed his tired eyes. "The Lost Mine of Durin is a legend rich in details and description, and this map seems truly old and of authentic Dwarven make. Did you find anything of value in the library today?" "Only a part of a riddle," replied Donfur, "The riddle said that the map was a key that was sundered, and only the cleft in the curve could reveal the location of the mine. We could not determine what this meant, or find anything on the map that matched this description."
Elrond pursed his lips and considered several things. His headache persisted, but he knew why his head ached so now, a response to drug he ingested from the food tray in his room over the last two nights. He acknowledged to himself the fever that was starting, he felt light headed. Clasping his hands behind his head and leaning back, he weighed his symptoms against his medical knowledge, and murmured, "Cleft in the curve, cleft in the curve." He noticed with blurring vision that the silver stylus laying on the table glinted suddenly. He picked it up and turned it gently this way and that, catching faint moonlight coming through an upper window's pane of glass. The shadow of the stylus fell across the map and Elrond studied it closely with a curious and rapt look on his face. He picked up the map and walked to the large windows facing the waterfalls, where he opened the shutters to the night. He was showered in a cascade of chill droplets of rain from the eaves as he did so. The cold shock revived him a bit.
The moon beamed down on the floor tiles through the opening, wreathed in wispy clouds scudding quickly along its face. Findalor and Erestor looked at each other with frowns, but said nothing. Where were the physicians? Elrond opened the map out and held it up just so to catch the light of the moon. He turned it this way and that and then smiled and laughed a soft laugh. "The cleft in the curve is here, in moon letters. Shame on Dwarves for forgetting the ancient skills of their people!" As others crowded around him he held the parchment in the light again and a new map appeared in faint silver lines as the moon shown through parchment. The curve of a torn edge revealed enough of the base of the drawn mountain range, with an indented cleft in the foothills marked by an "X". Banidur shook his gray curls as his son let out a gasp of wonder, "Wow!" Rivendell's many mysteries were becoming too much for Banidur to bear in such a short time. Legolas felt much the same way with a thrill along his youthful frame, and he was beginning to regret that he had to leave soon. This was a great place to be, he thought.
Eager hands grabbed for the map and Elrond released it to the new owners. "Will any moon work the magic do you think? Donfur asked eagerly, "Or just the full one we see tonight? I do remember that much about moon letters " he said. "We had better draw this off while we can still see it, the coming dawn will rob us of the chance soon." They were in the wee hours of the morning still, and only the sinking moon lightened the darkness.
Paper and pen were fetched for the excited dwarves and arrangements made to remove the thief from the library. The physicians arrived in a rush of concern and some of their number took the vials away after a brief discussion of the contents with Elrond.
The silver haired Chief Surgeon, Cirgalad, peered in Elrond's eyes with a fatherly tsk tsk and felt for fever and pulse. Elrond stepped back from the prodding and held his hand up for a moment's ease from the attention. Findalor offered the bag, coins and knife to Banidur, who backed away with hands out stating, "No no-keep them, keep them." His abject horror at having brought the thief into the House had shaken him. He gasped in deeper concern as Elrond sat down wearily, crossed his arms on the tabletop and laid his head down. He was unconscious instantly from exhaustion and the effects of the drug.
Elrond awoke once to find he had been removed to his bedchamber and placed into soft robes. He was now firmly tucked into the covers of his oversized bed, with the Chief Surgeon, Cirgalad, seated nearby watching him closely, making notes on a tablet. Elrond had a foul, bitter taste in his mouth, a cramping in his stomach and a sore throat. He was glad he had missed the unpleasant treatments for poisoning by being unconscious. He dimly registered the early morning's warm sunlight flooding the chamber, noted the medical students gathered at the foot of the bed and lapsed back into a dreaming state.
Erestor, Findalor and others checked on him throughout the day, and physicians came and went, checking for fever, pulse and heartbeat, looking for other reactions to the drug. They had confirmed Elrond's guess at the contents of the vial and were much relieved that his ingested amounts had been small. Gwalor had indeed eaten enough to cloud his senses and he was dying as the thief attacked him.
The inner council met that morning and dealt efficiently with the results of the winter storm, naming work parties to clear mud from the paths and gardens, to survey the damage to the foundations, greenhouses and vineyards, and to check the landslides and endangered paths. Order would be restored to the valley in a short time. The guests began packing to leave and scouts waited to lead them away up safe routes. The Dwarves wrote handwritten notes of thanks, but did not leave a copy of the map for library. They left for home with their fallen comrade carefully prepared and wrapped with fragrant herbs and oils by the medical staff. The party from Gondor packed quickly as well and departed in haste after paying a handsome fee for the burial of the thief, which they felt they had imposed upon the House to the detriment of its Lord and Master. As he passed out of the courtyard Banidur warned his son not to shock his mother with tales of the activities here, and he wondered if he would ever dare leave home again, or be allowed to by his wife.
Extremely superstitious, and wary of the reputation of the Elves, she had been against the trip from the beginning.
Household Guards finally located Legolas drinking in a last view from an upper porch, and he reluctantly joined the Elves from Lothlorien as they assembled in the courtyard to mount up and head homewards. There was much to share with the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood. Their low opinions of the unsettled and unseemly life in Rivendell were confirmed, un-tempered by the fact they had found the esoteric information they were seeking in the great library's holdings. Legolas thought back to when he had wandered into the Master's Study from the great library one afternoon, and was greeted by a smile and nod from Elrond.
Invited to stay and look around, Legolas had moved quietly about the lofty chamber with great curiosity as Elrond worked at his desk. The young Elf gently stroked the velvet and leather covers of books, dragged a curious hand along the figures in hanging tapestries, studied maps opened out along tables, and examined the carved images in the dark wooden beams. These things were not to be found in his father's study back in Mirkwood. Weaponry adorned the halls there. He saw the remains of a partly eaten breakfast on a small table, and pale wines and liquors sparkled in decanters along a shelf. A giant bouquet of the last roses of the season drooped fading in a large stone vase, filling the air with their sweet and heady aroma. Their fallen petals had formed multi-colored piles on the dark wood of the table, and Legolas took one up and held its velvety softness in his fingers as he looked at the titles in another bookcase.
Elrond sat back from a desk of paperwork and regarded the slender figure moving about the dim space. The darkening day and the pounding rain made it difficult to concentrate. Rapt with the new sensations found in the Master's Study, Legolas was unaware of the dark gaze locked on his every movement. The shutters dimmed the pale daylight, and flashes of lightening had cast shadows and lights across the shimmering blond hair. Finally shooed away by Lindefal, who bustled in with a new armload of urgent papers and more candles, Legolas had been blessed again with a warm smile and a wink from Elrond.
Now he looked back at the glittering rooftops as the homeward bound party left the valley behind and climbed a safe path upwards. Filled with new discoveries, he thought he had never seen anything like the place and its people before in his life. And there was something about the Master of the House, something unique he had never felt about anyone at home or in Lothlorien. He knew in his heart he would come back. He wondered how soon he could manage to return.
The courtyard grew quiet as activity moved to the restoration of order in the guest wing. Work parties cleared the storm's debris away efficiently. Elrond managed to rest through all the comings and goings, the treatments and antidotes, the handling and prodding, and he rose surprisingly refreshed and hungry at the evening meal bells. The silver haired Cirgalad released him from bed rest with a warning and a shaking head, and only after one more thorough check and sound scolding. Few dared treat the lordly Master of the House like an errant child, yet Cirgalad, the crusty old Chief Surgeon, had known and trained Elrond from childhood, and he expressed his reliably cranky opinion at will. He had stayed on at the establishment of Rivendell to start his medical school there in the caves under the cliffs and in the new greenhouses. Woe to the student who was late to class or who forgot a plant's properties. His fatherly pride and love for the Master of the House was closely held, but boundless. He gathered his notes and left the chamber.
Lindefal brushed Elrond's hair and left it loose tonight. The circlet remained on the dresser, as Elrond was enjoying a sense of freedom and the lack of pain in his head. Lindefal dressed him in loose robes. As he tied the sash he paused to give the Master of the House and hug and welcomed him back to the world of the living. Elrond smiled and clasped his arms around his old friend. "It is good to be back," he replied. The feeling of release from the days of pain and the incessant rain was enormous. Proceeding slowly down the loft steps he took in the familiar surroundings with a new pleasure and sense of ownership and pride. Their details were clear now to his rested and newly cured eyesight. Thousands of years of living there and treading these very steps had somewhat dulled his appreciation of the delicate carving of the beams and pillars, the interwoven patterns and colors of the floor tiles. He felt reborn somehow. The rain freshened air was warm and fragrant, and his senses had reawakened to absorbing scents and colors and sights all around him. At the foot of the stairs, he thrust his arms out and stretched backwards slowly, testing his balance. Lindefal laughed and with a nod headed to dinner as the last peals of the bells rang down the valley.
Erestor was waiting in the study, and they started down the steep flight of exterior stairs in the warm air. He studied his old friend with a searching eye, and finally stopped him on a landing. Taking both of Elrond's arms in his hands, he begged forgiveness at his lack of security and foresight. His years of responsibility and success melted away in his own mind at the sense of failure he felt. He blurted out that he was rethinking the roles of guests in the household, and he had upbraided the kitchen staff for their appalling lack of vigilance. He admitted that Findalor had been very cross with him, and rightly so. His innate racism was revealed as he bitterly remarked on the treachery of Men and the greed of Dwarves in a flood of emotion.
The thought of the loss of his longtime friend and sometimes lover through an error on his part filled his eyes with tears. "Who could know that man was a thief and murderer?" he asked. Elrond, touched by this display of grief and remorse, took Erestor in his arms and held him close. "I am fine" he said, "the worst is over and the mystery is solved."
" You were not yourself, why didn't I see that more clearly?" Erestor moaned. " I was too busy, too caught up in my own pleasures to take action," he whispered apologetically. His hands moved up and down Elrond's arms and shoulders, as if needing to convince himself physically that the danger was past and his friend was not a ghost. "Your body could have died and your spirit been lost to us forever because of me." He whispered sadly, "You could have died because of my carelessness."
This pronouncement of the deep and utter loss that occurred when an Elf died rather than set sail across the Western Seas revealed the depth of his horror at the night's events, and echoed Cirgalad's stern scolding. He seized Elrond in a breathless hug, pressing every inch of his body along the lithe frame before him. Caught off balance Elrond stepped back against the sun-warmed wall as Erestor squeezed him tightly. "You may succeed where the poison failed if you do not allow me to breathe," Elrond gasped. He pushed his friend back gently and brushed away the welling tears from the flushed cheeks. Deep green eyes regarded deep green eyes in a bond of love and companionship that spanned centuries. "Both you and Findalor warned me against having so many strangers in the House at once, and I did not listen," Elrond said, looking kindly at his distressed friend. "The storm made it all worse."
"I had eaten only a small amount of the drug anyway." He continued, trying to lighten the mood. "The antidote is a common weed in fact. I was never in any real danger." Erestor snorted his disbelief, "Ha! You know the physicians say differently." Erestor regained his composure as he scolded the tall dark figure before him. "What were you thinking, waiting like that?" Erestor picked up the bandaged forefinger and gestured to it dramatically, "And what was this all about? he demanded. Caught in a fib about his condition last night, Elrond sheepishly replied, "Well, I did say it was an anesthetic...but I am fine now."
Erestor clutched his friend's forearms and determined the truth for himself with a searching glance. A rose was back in those pale cheeks, a smile touched the lips, and the dark circles were fading from beneath the clearing eyes. The tension across the brow was gone. In a wash of relief he hugged Elrond again, pressing his face into the soft fabric across Elrond's chest while catching at the long strands of dark hair hanging down Elrond's back. These deep emotions and the warm hugs, Erestor's familiar scent, the sensation of his robes sliding across his skin, and the caresses in his hair brought a flood of feelings to Elrond. He was glad to be alive. He felt young and excited suddenly, like this was his first successful flirtation. For someone ageless beyond counting, this was quite an overpowering feeling. He did feel reborn.
Hunger forgotten, he took Erestor's hand and moved back along the stairway to his chambers. "You may come see if I am recovered," he said. "I am not certain how energetic I may be tonight, but it sounds like you owe me." Following Elrond up the stairs Erestor remarked, "That trick with the moon letters was pretty impressive." Elrond smiled and just laughed. Erestor gave him a playful yank on the hand and frowned, "How many would know about those letters?" he asked." How did you know to look there? The cleft in the curve, what a clue," he said shaking his head. Elrond smiled smugly and teased his friend with silence and raised eyebrows.
Nearing the top of the stairs Elrond casually said, "Findalor will wonder where I am at dinner, we had a tryst for tonight." Escaping a tightening handgrip, his robes slipped through Erestor's hand as he dashed up the final few stairs and into his study. Breathing raggedly from the brief exertion, he gathered himself and his robes together in his most stately manner and regally started up the winding stairs to his bedchamber. As he neared the loft landing, he turned to look at Erestor, standing hands on hips at the bottom of the stairs. "Coming?" he purred.
Looking upwards, Erestor had watched the slow ascent, the gathered robes hinting at the smooth motion beneath. "Coming? Am I coming?" he sputtered. "Well not yet, but soon enough it seems! Cleft in the curve indeed!" he raced up the stairs behind Elrond. "I'll find the cleft in the curve and we'll see what treasures are truly hidden there!" They came together in a crash in the bedchamber and tumbled sprawling across the oversized bed. Sheets and coverlets whiffed up and settled down over them as they lay laughing and entangled together. Under the snowy tent, Erestor nipped Elrond's lower lip and said, "It is good to have you back."
They hurriedly kicked off house slippers, bumping knees and ankles in the process. Their hands grasped at tangled clothing and sheets in a tussle to free themselves of textile bonds. The sheets and coverlets were pulled out and went flying off onto the floor in a heap as they sorted themselves and the tangling fabrics out. After gasping and laughing at the exertions of shedding garments and bedclothes, slow caresses and deep kisses slowed the tempo, but raised the heat. The large soft bed, square as was the custom at Rivendell, accommodated their sideways sprawl. Aware of his lover's weakened condition, Erestor was determined to keep things slow and easy. Tired and compliant, Elrond felt every touch, every breath along his skin and every kiss like never before. Always the responsible one, the reliable leader, he relished these moments where he released control to others. He sighed, and then moaned as a warm tongue dragged across a shoulder and soft lips circled a nipple with a lick then a nip. Neither one noticed Findalor as he quietly came up to the loft chamber and took a seat on the upper steps.
They lay side-by-side entangled in bliss. Gentle probing fingers slid down Elrond's back, across his buttocks and pulled his top leg forward to rest across Erestor's thigh. Erestor's fingers reached along the soft inner flesh, and flattened to draw across a ridge of raised flesh there. A long scar stretched alongside the diagonal large muscle, and his fingers traced its outline by feel. Attacked once long ago by ambush, he and Elrond had narrowly escaped death. They had received serious wounds before being rescued by the intervention of Findalor and the search party sent to find them in the night. As the border guards raced down the roadway to destroy the retreating Orcs, Erestor had eased Elrond from his horse and then torn his shirt hem rapidly into strips for bandages. He still remembered trying to bind the bleeding sword wound with shaking hands in the flickering light of torches. Not only shaking, his hands were slick with blood from Elrond's wound and the cut on his own forearm that was bleeding badly as well. He had stopped to brush his hair back and smeared blood across his face. Elrond had touched the bleeding forearm and dabbed his own cheek. "We are blood brothers now, eh?" he said, joking through teeth clenched in pain. Findalor and the guards had returned with wounds of their own after the successful destruction of the dreaded Orcs. He had finished bandaging the more serious cuts of his friends, ending up blood soaked as well. Elrond reached over and streaked a bloody thumbprint across Findalor's cheek, welcoming him to the new brotherhood. Erestor marked the other cheek as Findalor looked at them both with a grim smile, shaking his head.
Erestor remembered the gripping fear that the weapons might have been poisoned, the relief that they were not, and the long time it took Elrond to recover. Yes, that scar was Erestor's to cherish. Elrond whispered "Blood brothers," at his own memory of the night and gently kissed Erestor's shoulder. Erestor dragged fingertips along the thigh and over the hip, smiling at the trembling flesh beneath them. He teased his lover with nips and licks, prolonging the torture by avoiding any intimate touches.
Driven beyond endurance by his own teasing, he stretched out along side Elrond and their bodies pressed together in comforting warmth and closeness. The slight rhythm of motion between their hips increased as lips became swollen with kisses and tongues sought dark recesses. They began to melt into that shared state of being that joins lovers into one in the night. Erestor's deliberate control of the building passion electrified each touch as they moved together. Rolling Elrond over into a pile of pillows Erestor reached for a small dish of silky scented cream, and scooped an ample amount into his palm. " So I owe you eh?" he whispered. He warmed the oily cream with his hands and applied it to the broad shoulders and muscular back laid before him. 'Let's see if you are really as recovered as you claim." This was a new scent, and he rubbed his face slowly and ran his hands down his own chest, enjoying the feeling. Kneeling over Elrond, he grasped himself and slowly applied the creamy substance in long slow strokes that brought a deep groan as he dropped his head into the small of Elrond's back in pleasure.
He kissed the flat base of the spine, and nipped and sucked at the firm mounds before him, leaving red marks in a trail. Spreading his fingers wide, he ran them along the muscular ribcage, down the thighs, and up and around to massage the cleft and dark portal into relaxation. The flesh fluttered and trembled beneath his fingers and Elrond ground against the pillows with a growling moan, clutching at the sheets. Still tormented by the thought of Elrond's poisoning, Erestor was determined to draw out every sensation, and experience each touch as long as he could. He drank in every smell, every texture and every feeling. Elrond's long hair had dragged in the cream along his shoulders and it clung to Erestor's face as he planted kisses up the backbone and to a place where the hair parted across Elrond's neck. He lay along the length of his lover as insistent and mounting tension filled them both. He buried his face in Elrond's hair and inhaled deeply. The sucking, nibbling kisses, hair and cream and all, became a hard bite in the soft flesh at the junction of neck and shoulders, and Elrond moaned in pleasure and pain.
Erestor eased downwards in a slow slide and rubbed himself along the cleft in the curve. He slid inside, and pushing slowly and steadily, and entered, relishing the enveloping heat. His moans were matched by those of his shifting partner, who was moving to encourage the entry. He paused and pushed past the slight resistance with ease, trembling at the sensations pouring into him from the joining. He grasped the muscular ribcage beneath him and pressed his forehead into Elrond's back as his partner rose to meet him in an arc. Panting in ragged breaths they shifted in an oil-slicked rhythm that increased their tension and brought the world telescoping inwards on them alone. One entity now, they were alone in the closed universe of deep passion, the tingling nerves and grinding sensations all that could be processed by their senses.
Reaching into the soft pillows and taking Elrond firmly in hand Erestor was met by another trembling moan. The simple but firm grasp after the lengthy teasing brought Elrond beyond the sharp edge of pleasure and pain, and he cried out hoarsely as he shuddered his release into the pillows. His firm grip on the sheets pulled them into wrinkled mountains as he gathered his elbows beneath him in shuddering spasms of pleasure. He collapsed onto the bed, face buried in the crumpled sheets and gasped for breath. Erestor kissed his back and hugged him tightly in a flood of emotions. He was well beyond endurance himself, and now he had brought his lover into release he felt himself tightening and tingling as well. Firm hands grasped his shoulders and a soft voice whispered in his ear, "Room for me?"
Findalor had removed his clothing silently and stood beside the bed gleaming with oil in the flickering lamplight. Elrond moaned a low contented moan, as yet unable to move. Findalor moved one knee up onto the bed and laughed at the angle the pair had ended up in across the soft-pillowed surface. He rubbed Erestor's shoulders and back with warmed hands and slid oil-slicked fingers down the buttocks before him, opening the cheeks with a firm grip. "You had better hurry" Erestor panted.
"Oh, whispered Findalor, "I am more than ready now, I had forgotten how much I enjoyed watching you two," he teased." Erestor gasped as he felt the first piercing pleasure of entry, and Findalor grasped him, easing them over to their sides and releasing Elrond from the crush. He slipped inside the dark tight channel completely as they fell onto the bed. Erestor lost all control at these combined sensations and his pleasure spilled out onto the pillows beside him in jerking waves. Findalor moved quickly in short hard thrusts and followed soon after. His gasping release brought a smile to Elrond as the bed finally stopped shaking and rolling. Hair fell across faces tangled in sweat soaked strands as love slicked and sticky pillows were kicked to the floor. They settled into a comfortably tangled pile of arms and legs.
Findalor glanced at the heaped mess of sheets and piles of pillows on the floor and asked," And what will Lindefal say?" Elrond, completely spent but glad to be back in the world of the living again, remarked, "He won't have a chance to complain, I'll see to that." He warmed at the thoughts of resuming their interrupted session last night, "I owe him one."
The End
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