Summary: A voyage from Umbar to Lindon is filled with intrigue and suppressed yearnings.
Author's note: Hope this fits the bill as it's somewhat different from the usual E/G. I'm afraid my Glorfindel is a bit of a jock but he's been out of high school for a very long time. *g* Sorry that I got carried away with this. It became an adventure tale, but still has plenty of romance. Merry Christmas!
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Chapter 1 - Umbar
Second Age 2250
The light in the shop was dim
and it took Erestor’s eyes a moment to adjust. There, leaning across
the counter in close conversation with the merchant's son, was the one
he sought, his traveling companion, Glorfindel. The Elda looked scandalously
underdressed and terribly native in his sleeveless, blue-striped cotton
tunic, which revealed the powerful curves of his bare arms, voluminous
trousers tied at the ankle and slit up the sides to the thigh, and leather
sandals. His wrists were encased in bronze guards and his waist
was cinched by a wide band of red leather from which hung a sword and
several long and elegant elvish knives. He certainly could pass
for one of their Southron hosts except for his fair complexion and that
hair. Unlike the traditional cloth-bound style of the Haradrim, it flowed
down his back in a glorious golden cascade into which were braided a
dozen tiny silver bells that chimed agreeably when he moved. Only Glorfindel
could pull off such a brash mix of elvish and Haradrim costume and still
be uniquely himself.
Erestor’s gaze shifted to
the merchant’s teenage boy, who appeared to have paused in the midst
of wrapping up parcels. Unfortunately, the young man was pretty
and he was looking at Glorfindel with dark eyes full of promise. Glorfindel’s
answering smile was dazzling enough to weaken the most stalwart resolve.
The warrior reached out and gently ran his knuckles across the boy’s
cheek. The boy’s lips parted slightly; his eyes fluttered shut.
A warm glow of sympathy for the young man’s plight coursed through
Erestor, lodging in his groin. Curse Glorfindel for a rogue! This scene
was all too familiar.
Loudly, Erestor cleared his
throat. The youth’s eyes darted upward to meet Erestor’s;
he straightened and went back to his task as if nothing had happened.
Glorfindel turned to look at him, a mischievous smile quirking that
luscious mouth. Not even a hint of embarrassment! Erestor shot
him what he sincerely hoped was his sternest look of approbation.
He could feel Glorfindel’s amusement like waves of rippling water.
It did not improve Erestor’s temper. He walked up to the
counter covered with the pile of supplies, picked up a piece of that
wretched waybread these Haradrim called food, and rapped it on the counter
top.
“Not these miserable things
again, Glorfindel. I swear by the gods, I near broke a tooth on
one during the trip down.”
“They pack well and keep
sweet for a long voyage. This young man’s family has a secret recipe
which he assures me is quite palatable, Erestor.” The golden warrior’s
voice was light, and as ever, smooth and diplomatic as silk. His tongue
seemed to linger warningly on the final r in Erestor’s name.
“I assure you, my lord, it
always receives praise,” the boy said. “My family, we are well known
for it.” He spoke in the strange lilting accent of the Haradrim. His
smile was bright, meant to charm. Erestor was, of course, immune
to its effect.
“My apologies,” Erestor
purred, “I intended no insult. I am sure it is delightful.”
He tossed the biscuit back on the pile where it hit with a clatter.
The boy turned to Glorfindel.
“My lord, ten rotels of the biscuit, you said?” He began scooping
the tan squares from a barrel into one of the hanging scales, then added
a lead weight to the other scale and frowned. “Enough is it, for a
sennight at sea?”
“It should be. The biscuit
is mainly for the last stages of the journey. We are stocking plenty
of other provender and my ascetic companion here doesn’t eat much,
as you can see.” Glorfindel lightly tapped Erestor’s stomach
with the back of his hand.
Annoyed, Erestor stepped away
from him. “My needs are minimal. I don’t gratify my desires . .
. as some do.”
“Perhaps you should occasionally.
It might improve your mood. It is not healthy to starve oneself,”
Glorfindel replied.
“Neither is it wise to indulge
in a constant glut,” Erestor countered. “Some of us take our vows
seriously.”
The argument was old and tired
and both knew it was not about food. Erestor wasn’t even sure
why they sparred so, just that whenever he spoke to Glorfindel, it came
as naturally as breathing. He wasn’t looking forward to another
week cooped up on a small ship with his irritating companion. On the
way down to Umbar, Erestor had spent quite some time contemplating what
he would say to Ereinion when they returned to Lindon, about the king’s
strange sense of humor in sending him, a senior strategist, on an ignoble
mission to retrieve a horse of all things, and with Glorfindel of all
elves. Everyone in court knew they did not get along. And
it was also well known that Erestor hated to travel. But when
he had protested, Ereinion would not hear of it. “It will do you good,
Erestor. Get you out of that musty library and into the fresh
air.” Indeed, he’d said more that Erestor did not wish to
contemplate just then. And now . . . well, now after two
weeks in Umbar, Erestor had encountered enough court intrigue to know
why Ereinion had sent him. None of it served to improve his mood.
It seemed to take forever before
Glorfindel finally concluded their business and arranged for the purchases
to be delivered to their ship. The warrior’s farewell to the merchant
lad was conducted with heartfelt assurances of mutual admiration and
unnecessary kisses to both cheeks. Erestor rolled his eyes.
Outside the shop the blazing
white sunlight assaulted them and instantly Erestor felt hot in his
heavy, black silk garments. He remembered the argument he’d had with
Glorfindel about adopting native dress and it served to increase his
irritation. Once they were sufficiently out of the earshot of men hanging
around the shop, Erestor turned to his companion and said, “For gods’
sake, Findel, what were you about in there? Do you know what that
boy’s family would do to you if they caught you? You might curb your
appetite just long enough for us to get home in one piece.”
Glorfindel shrugged. “It
was but a shared moment of appreciation, nothing more. You get
yourself too worked up over these things. One might even think
you were jealous.”
Erestor spluttered like a dunked
cat, “Jealous, my foot! Of what? Your ability to seduce every young
catamite you come across? You have an overweening opinion of yourself,
Lord of the Golden Flower. You should have a care. The Valar
are not overfond of hubris.”
“I have met the Valar and
am not frightened of them,” Glorfindel replied shortly. He lengthened
his stride into a long wolflike lope, a fact joyously announced by the
bells in his hair. Erestor had to work to match his pace.
The gulls’ rasping cries
as they wheeled overhead told Erestor they were close to the docks.
The wind brought them the scents of brine, rotting seaweed, and tar.
They emerged from an alley into a wider road and were nearly knocked
down by a cart hauling a load of timber down to the wharf. The
human traffic increased as did the sounds of commerce. From booths
perched on the wooden planking of the docks, merchants were selling
anything one could imagine and some things one could not.
An apothecary’s stand with
a strange assortment of hanging leathery objects caught Erestor’s
eye. Unable to contain his curiosity, he stopped to look at them, then
tentatively touched what appeared to be a tremendous sausage.
“Ah, the handsome lord desires
something to please his sweetheart, yes?” The merchant said
with a sly wink.
“My sweetheart?” Erestor
asked, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s a rhino penis,”
Glorfindel said as he leaned casually against the stand. Erestor snatched
his hand back and Glorfindel chuckled. “Dried and ground into powder,
mixed in wine, it’s supposed to improve one’s prowess.”
“Only you would know these
things,” Erestor retorted. He looked again at the object swinging
in the breeze. “Mandos, it’s huge,” he said in awe.
“I’ve never seen this animal.”
“They say it is an armored
beast with a spike in the middle of its face and a wayward temper. I
have never seen one either. Perhaps we should sail south to seek one?”
Glorfindel was enjoying himself far too much at Erestor’s expense.
It was time for a riposte.
“The only direction I’m
interested in is north where the climate is more temperate.”
Erestor turned back to the merchant. “Do you have anything for
stomach malady?”
“From what cause, my lord
elf?”
“Illness at sea, from the
motion,” Erestor crossed his arms over his stomach and puffed out
his cheeks.
The man smiled. “Ah
yes, here.” He reached for a large ceramic jar and opened the
seal; it emitted a strong fishy smell. He picked up a bit of the
powdery substance on his forefinger and mimed touching it on his tongue.
He said, “Put under tongue or drop pinch in tea. Works good.”
“What is it made of?”
Erestor asked.
“Eels.”
Erestor made a face and Glorfindel’s
laughter echoed down the quay.
“And some other secret ingredients,” the merchant hastened to add.
“Yes, I’ll take a dram,”
Erestor said.
“I’ve never seen you seasick,”
Glorfindel said.
“It’s not for me,” Erestor
said with a smirk. “It’s for you. Eels. I’m sure that’s
just the thing when you feel like heaving. I’ll be right there with
a large spoonful.”
“Uh huh,” Glorfindel retorted.
“It’s just sympathetic magic. They think because eels squirm,
it will cure the same roiling feeling in the stomach. Thank you, I’ll
none of it. I’ll just hang my head off the side.” He turned and
strode off through the throng.
Well, that’s put him in his
place, Erestor thought smugly as he paid the man and tucked the small
cloth bag into his belt pouch. The proud warrior had been quite ill
during a rough patch of weather on the way over. In part, Erestor
derived satisfaction from his companion’s discomfiture, but another
part couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. The usually unflappable
Noldor had looked truly miserable, a fine shade of green.
“If you’ll pardon me, my
lord, here’s another method of curing seasickness,” the merchant
said. “Please to hold out your hand.”
Erestor did so and the merchant
pinched on either side of the hollow below Erestor’s wrist bone where
the pulse ran. “Apply the pressure just so,” he said. “Hold.
It will relieve the malady.”
“Thank you, my friend,”
Erestor said, although he couldn’t imagine how that would work.
He looked for Glorfindel and saw the flash of bright hair ahead of him
in the crowd. He hurried to catch up.
They came out onto the docks.
Ahead, moored to the pier, were an array of ships with sails of differing
sizes and colors. Third down the line was their ship, Hirilondë,
a merchant vessel from Númenor. The sailors were busy unfurling its
bright yellow and red sails. There seemed to be a crowd gathering
near it and suddenly they could hear the high pitched scream of a horse.
Glorfindel shaded his eyes
to see. The crowd broke and swirled outward. In its midst, Erestor
could see a white horse rearing and flailing out with his hooves.
“By Mandos! The fools!”
Glorfindel cursed. He took off running, as fiercely swift in motion
as a thrown lance. Groups parted before him and Erestor could
barely keep up. They dodged around people and carts until they
reached the scene of confusion.
There was their charge, the gift from Prince Du-phursa of Umbar to King Ereinion Gil-galad: a magnificent white stallion with a jet black mane and tail. The Prince had kept them a fortnight waiting at court occupied with feasts and meetings with officials, until he finally presented the animal. It had appeared docile and well-trained. Now the creature was completely wild: snorting, leaping, flailing his front legs which were wrapped in white bandages, while three exasperated men shouted and hauled back on the ropes tied to his halter. Overhead, on a long arm from the ship’s crane, hung a thick leather harness that they had been attempting to fasten to the horse so they could winch him on board the ship. Erestor watched in absolute horror as the stallion reared up again and caught a foreleg in the harness.
“Halt! Don’t move!” Glorfindel’s
voice boomed above the din. Everyone froze. “You,” Glorfindel gestured
at the men who held the ropes, “Let go. Back away from him.”
The men looked at each other and then did as the fierce elf lord commanded.
The horse shrilled savagely and continued fighting the harness, hopping
around on three legs. The hooves clattered against the planking.
Glorfindel began speaking in Sindarin, his voice low and musical, almost
like humming bees. The words were singsong nonsense but they seemed
to project calm. Suddenly Erestor envisioned a field of rippling
grass.
Blowing hard through flared
nostrils, the horse stopped thrashing and stared at Glorfindel. Slowly,
deliberately, the warrior approached. He reached out a hand; placed
it on the animal’s neck. The strange nonsense poured from his
lips. The horse’s ears pricked forward. Glorfindel grasped the
leg that hung in the harness, gently lifted it a little, and slid the
harness away from it, then let it down to the dock. The stallion
was poised for flight, stiff and trembling. Glorfindel continued speaking
to him in a crooning tone, as one would a lover, while gently stroking
his neck, his ears, his nose. Then the elf lord leaned his forehead
against the animal’s neck and spoke so softly Erestor could barely
hear him. Slowly the stallion lowered his proud head and his breathing
eased.
The men around them relaxed
and the buzz of speech began. Erestor was struck dumb, filled
with unexpected admiration. He knew his companion had a way with animals
but had never seen him do this before. It was extraordinary.
Glorfindel turned his head,
still with his cheek pressed to the horse’s neck. “Erestor, come
here. I need your help.” Erestor approached with some trepidation.
The horse watched him suspiciously. “Talk to him,” Glorfindel said.
“What do I say?” Erestor
asked.
“It doesn’t matter.
Introduce yourself. Talk of the weather for Mandos’ sake. Come
here and put your hand on his neck.”
“Hello friend horse,” Erestor
began. “I am Erestor, Councilor and Strategist to the High Elven King
Gil-galad. And your name is, what did Prince Du-phursa call him?”
“Oiolairë,” Glorfindel
said. He was busy running his hands down the animal’s legs to
make sure he wasn’t injured.
“Ah yes, Oiolairë. Interesting name that. An evergreen tree. On Númenor, it’s sacred. They affix a branch on the prow of a ship to secure Ossë’s blessings for a safe voyage. Perhaps you are meant to be our safe passage home, eh?”
The horse was listening to
him with ears pricked forward and now he gave a small grunt and nudged
Erestor with his nose.
“Erestor, I didn’t know
you had a way with horses,” Glorfindel said as he straightened up.
Erestor felt himself blush with pleasure. He hadn’t had much call to work around horses. Mostly he viewed them as a necessary evil to get from one place to the next. He stroked Oiolairë’s silky white neck and admired him. He was truly a splendid gift: spirited, fine carriage, intelligent face, long powerful legs, well-sprung chest. His coloring was striking: white and black, a study in contrasts, like day and night. Even Erestor could tell that the offspring of this horse would greatly enhance the King’s stock. The animal was worth several talents of gold. The Prince must really desire the alliance with Gil-galad that they had discussed.
“My lord, how will we get
him aboard the ship? He fights the harness,” asked one of the men
who had been attempting to control the horse.
“Wouldn’t you fight, if
someone tried to strap something around your belly and hoist you through
the air?” Glorfindel asked. “Where is his groom? He needs
someone he trusts.”
“His groom was detained,”
said another man. “He appears to trust you.”
“So be it,” Glorfindel
said. “Bring me a scarf.”
The first man unwound a cloth from his waist and handed it to Glorfindel. Still murmuring reassurances in that low, melodic voice, the warrior tied the cloth around the animal’s eyes.
“I need help fastening the
rig,” Glorfindel said. “You and you, approach slowly and quietly.
Erestor, hold onto his halter; keep talking to him.”
After some false starts in
which the stallion sidestepped out of the harness, they managed to secure
him. Glorfindel signaled to the men on the ship to start the winch
and slowly the horse was lifted off the ground and swung over the water.
He struggled, his legs thrashing as he became airborne. Glorfindel
called to him and the horse eventually relaxed. When his hooves touched
the deck of the ship, the crowd cheered.
“Well, that’s done,”
Glorfindel said, “Now we need to get aboard ourselves.” He
clapped Erestor on the back. “A nice piece of work, friend.
I didn’t know you had such a skill.”
Erestor had stiffened under
the warrior’s touch. “I don’t,” he replied shortly. “Let’s
get on with this, shall we? I wish to be out to sea, away from
this heat.”
They reached the ship by way
of a fifteen-foot long, swaying gangplank. Glorfindel ran across it
as if it were a highway. Erestor came more cautiously. Once aboard,
they went down into the hold where the sailors had lowered the unfortunate
horse. Although his stall was large and well ventilated, he looked
ill at ease, shifting back and forth in an attempt to brace against
the gentle rock of the ship. He was supported about the belly
by a harness that was tied to the sides of the stall. He still wore
the blindfold.
“At least they know enough
about transporting horses to leave his head free,” Glorfindel said.
“Why does that matter?”
Erestor asked.
“They need to be able to
lower their heads or they get ill,” Glorfindel replied. He ducked
under the rope barrier and entered the stall. “Suilad, old man,”
he said. “Don’t fret. You’ll become used to it.” He patted
his neck, then carefully took off the blindfold. The horse
tossed his head with a loud snort. “I understand your dislike
of boats,” Glorfindel said. “I’m not partial to them myself. It
will be only seven or eight days, Ossë willing, until your feet touch
land again.” He held out a hand filled with grain from the bin
and the horse accepted it. After some time, the animal appeared to quiet
and began drinking water from the bucket in the feedbin.
Erestor breathed a sigh of
relief. They had considered riding the horse back to Lindon by
the overland route but that would have taken four months and would have
been harder on the horse, not to mention the thought of brigands along
the way. No, this was the best method.
“Well, now that our charge
is safely bedded down,” Erestor said, “I’m going on deck to see
if they have delivered my trunk to our cabin. I expect half of the contents
to be missing or at the least to find it filled with snakes. I
swear they went through it thoroughly while we cooled our heels in court.
Everything was out of place.”
“You don’t have much faith
in our hosts,” Glorfindel said, smiling.
“Should I? You’ve watched
the Darkness creeping over every enclave from here to Gondor,” Erestor
said. “I learned enough at Court to be disquieted. There are
clearly several competing factions within Umbar. Just because Prince
Du-phursa is Númenorean doesn’t aid us. Númenor darkens too.”
Glorfindel nodded. “I see
the signs as well as you, my friend. I've learned a few things myself.
And I know what rides on this mission, as they say. Let’s go check
on your trunk.”
They climbed the ramp to the
deck and found the captain standing amidships shouting orders to a score
of barely-clad young men who were climbing rigging, unfurling the sails,
and hoisting the anchor. Glorfindel gazed about with an appreciative
smile. Erestor had to bite his tongue to keep from making a snide
comment. The wind caught a sail and it bellied full just as several
men pushed away from the docks. The ship lurched forward. Overhead,
the gulls screeched.
“Well, Erestor, you should
be happy, we’re heading home,” Glorfindel shouted. The wind
took his words and flung them away. He was beaming. Erestor
smiled too. Yes, thank the Valar, they were headed home.
*******************
Because they were important
passengers, high-ranking members of Gil-galad’s court, Erestor and
Glorfindel always dined with the captain who had the cabin next to theirs.
The crew all ate and slept in the hold below.
The Captain’s name was Azra
Armalak. He was Númenorean born and had spent most of his life
at sea. He was lanky except for a large belly, wore his hair in
a queue, and sported a long mustache. Even on land, he walked with a
rolling gate. He claimed kinship with the royal house of Númenor,
in the distant past through a sister of Tar-Súrion. His talk
was salty and his manners atrocious, a fact that Glorfindel enjoyed
and Erestor tolerated. The important thing is that he was one of the
Elendili, the elf-friends, and as such was loyal to Gil-galad.
When they entered the cabin,
the captain was awaiting them with outstretched arms. “Greetings my
lords, Glorfindel, Erestor. How fine to see both of ye back aboard.
The wind’s abaft us and we’re off to Lindon on a wing and a prayer,
Mandos be cussed.”
“Good evening Captain Armalak,”
Erestor said with a bow. “And you may ‘cuss’ Mandos as you
say, as long as prayers are offered to Ossë and Ulmo.”
“Is he always this damn formal,
Findel?”
“Usually worse,” said Glorfindel,
“I do believe he’s loosening up.”
“I am merely cautious,”
said Erestor. “I have no desire to wash up on the rocks somewhere
through offense to the Valar.”
“Ah the Valar will do what
they will, eh? I’ve learnt that after sixty years asea.
Still Counselor Erestor, I’ve never been washed up anywheres yet.
And you Findel, gone native, I dare say.” Stroking his chin,
he walked around Glorfindel eying him appraisingly. “You look like
a damned brigand.”
“It’s practical in this
heat,” said Glorfindel. “I’ve learned to adopt the local dress
wherever I go. They usually wear it for a reason. Erestor and
I have already had this discussion.”
“And I felt that as ambassadors
from Gil-galad, we should look the part,” said Erestor. “However,
there is no need for protocol here. I too can adapt.” He looked
pointedly at Glorfindel as he took off his thigh-length fitted jacket
of black silk revealing a pleated linen shirt with lace collar and cuffs.
“There, much better. I feel I can breathe.”
Glorfindel was looking at him
with amusement. “Do I win the wager?” he asked.
“Certainly not. We are not
in Umbar now.”
“You are the stubbornest
elf I know, Erestor,” said Glorfindel.
The Captain laughed at this
exchange. “I see that a fortnight in Umbar hasn’t changed you two
a bit. I think the Haradrim dress suits you, Glorfindel.
Nice physique, wouldn’t you say, Erestor?”
Erestor made a humphing sound.
Captain Armalak laughed again. “Come, let’s sit down and eat,”
he said. “I’m fair fit to eat that horse we’ve got down
in the hold.”
They sat at the table and the
Captain rang a bell. “I hired a new boy while in port,” he said.
“A fair looker too, though personally I’m one for women.”
He winked at Glorfindel. The door opened and Erestor’s mouth dropped
for a moment. It was the same young man who had served them in the shop.
He was carrying a plate of fish and a basket of bread, which he set
down on the sideboard. Now that he was out in the bright light,
Erestor could see the full extent of his loveliness: an almost feminine
face with high cheekbones, bright eyes lined with kohl, a long, narrow
nose, and shapely lips. Most of his black hair was bound up by a wide
red headband but one curling lock escaped its confines and hung over
his shoulder, halfway down his chest. The sides of his sleeveless white
tunic were slit and loosely laced revealing tantalizing flashes of olive
skin. Erestor was not pleased to see Glorfindel’s broadening smile.
“Ardan!” Glorfindel cried.
“My Lord Glorfindel.”
The boy demurely dropped his glance and smiled, a lovely flash of white
teeth.
Ai gods, Erestor thought. He
looked up at the elaborately carved ceiling.
“How do you come to be working
aboard this ship?” Glorfindel queried.
“He showed up this morning
with a letter of recommendation from the Prince’s Minister of Commerce,”
Armalak said. “Said he could cook and keep track of the stores.
Fortunate, since my previous cabin boy ran off shortly after we come
ashore and I ain’t seen him since. This one is from an old merchant
family. By Ossë, when he told me who his family was, I realized I knew
his grandfather. Confided in me, he did, that he’s always wanted to
go to sea. Adventurous that. Reminded me of me when I were
his age. And how, I ask ye my lords, could I turn that down.”
He gestured palm up at the boy who was smiling again with a coy expression.
“I can’t imagine how,”
Glorfindel said, rather breathlessly.
Something was prickling at
Erestor, something he didn’t like. Almost of warning. He didn’t
know what to do with the feeling, so he fought it down.
“Why didn’t you tell me
this afternoon that you would be sailing on the Hirilondë?” Glorfindel
asked.
“I wanted to surprise you,”
Ardan said with a slight shrug.
"You succeeded,"
Glorfindel replied.
“Well lad, be about your
business then,” said Armalak
“Yes sir.”
Glorfindel raptly watched the
young man laying out the dishes, cups, and food. Erestor noticed
that he brushed against Glorfindel as he was pouring out the wine.
Glorfindel looked up and they exchanged a smile. When completed, Armalak
dismissed the boy with a wave of the hand. “I’ll ring when
we require the next course,” he said.
Armalak raised his wooden wine
cup. “Counselor Erestor, would you do the honors?”
Erestor nodded. He dipped
his finger in the cup, took up a drop of wine on his finger which he
let fall on the votive plate, then a pinch of bread, a bit of salt.
He pulled a knife from his belt and pricked his callused thumb with
it, allowing a drop of crimson to splash down into the wine. Then
he swirled his thumb in a tight circle through the mixture. The salt
stung. “Hear us, Ulmo, Lord of Waters, and Ossë of the Waves, grant
your humble servants safe passage over your restless domain.”
“Hear us,” both the Captain
and Glorfindel intoned. Then, without even waiting a decent interval,
Armalak was tearing at his bread like a starving wolf.
Erestor began to eat his fish
more delicately. It had a fine flavor.
“This is good,” said Glorfindel.
“Who knew the boy could cook?”
“Yes, who knew,” Erestor
said dryly.
“You sound as if you don’t
approve of my new hire,” Armalak said with a laugh. “I believe Findel
has a different opinion.”
“It is not my place to approve
or disapprove,” Erestor said. “I merely have unfounded suspicions.”
Glorfindel looked at him and
then a slow grin spread over his face. “My dear Erestor, just because
you can’t eat, don’t begrudge someone else the feast.”
“What do you mean?” The
Captain said around a mouthful.
“Ah, you didn’t know, Armalak?”
replied Glorfindel. “Our dear friend and companion has taken a vow
of chastity in service of Ossë, about five hundred years ago, I believe.
It’s crap inconvenient at times.” Glorfindel shook his head.
"Five hundred and fifty
years exactly," said Erestor.
Armalak widened his eyes. “I
didn’t know Ossë required that of his devotees.”
“Normally, he doesn’t,”
Erestor said with dignity. “However, I have my reasons, which remain
my own.”
“Damn shame,” Armalak said
as he picked a fish bone out of his teeth. “Someone of your looks.
Begging your pardon, my lord, but there it is. I’d be blind
if I couldn’t see it, even though women is more to my taste.
However,” he grinned and licked his lips as he ran his eyes over Erestor,
"we shouldn't fault variety, should we?"
Erestor abruptly stood.
He grasped the sides of the table as he leaned menacingly toward Armalak.
"You’re out of your place, Captain.”
“Forgive me,” Armalak replied.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and continued chewing.
“Eh, Erestor, sit down,”
said Glorfindel. “I swear, you are so backed up that it is affecting
your head.”
“I don’t see that frequent
indulgence has improved your ability to be discerning,” Erestor scoffed
as he sank back in his seat. “Who kept disappearing with the Prince’s
sister while leaving me to wend my way through the nuanced intrigue
of Umbarian conversation? Half the time I didn’t know if I was
being insulted or pumped for information. I suspect both, but
it was so,” he waved his hand, “subtly done.”
“They are known for that.
But you yourself are a master at such word games, Erestor,” Glorfindel
said. “Many is the time I’ve seen you in Council put down some pompous
elf so beautifully he didn’t even know it afterward. I
love to see that little half-smile on Ereinion’s face when you do
it too. Nothing gets by that old fox.”
The rare compliment took Erestor
by surprise. He dipped his head in acknowledgment.
“Besides,” Glorfindel raised
his glass, “what makes you think my time with Princess Ilien was not
productive? She shared many things that may be quite useful. Sometimes
horizontal conversations are the most revealing, wouldn’t you say?”
He took a sip of wine.
Armalak burst into laughter,
reached over and clapped his hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder.
“I like you, Findel,” he said. “I didn't think the elves were
so hot-blooded.”
“Who says we're not?” Glorfindel
raised a slanted eyebrow.
“It’s a wonder we weren’t
stabbed in our beds,” Erestor responded. “I hope this is not being
discussed all over court.”
“Not a word,” Glorfindel
said. “I assure you.”
“Well, I’m ready for the
duck,” Armalak said. “What d’ye say I ring and we give Glorfindel
another gawk at our lovely new server? Gil-galad’s Master at Arms
appears to have a taste for Southron arse.” He laughed again
as he picked up the hand bell.
Erestor could only grit his
teeth.
******************************
After dinner, Glorfindel went
to check on the horse while Erestor stood on deck and watched Anar recede
in fiery glory below the horizon. Already the coastline was only visible
as a distant brown haze that encircled them on three sides. Erestor
knew the way by heart. First they would clear the jaws of the Bay of
Umbar and then strike directly across the Bay of Belfalas for the Cape
of Anfalas, then meander along, keeping the coast in sight on the starboard
side, past the lands of Enedwaith, Minhiriath, Harlindon to the Gulf
of Lune. With a good wind, which they should have at this time of year,
they would make it home in time for Mettarë, the winter solstice celebration.
Of all the rituals in the year, Erestor was most fond of this one. He
smiled, remembering the candles blazing throughout the castle, the pungent
smell of pine boughs that decorated the doorframes and banisters, and
the mouth-watering smells of roast goose, spiced pies, and mulled wine
punch with oranges, cinnamon, and cloves. He loved the laughter
and the singing that went on all day and into the night. And of course
the little gifts. He had picked up a few things in Umbar, uncommon
enough to be real treats for his friends. In a weak moment, he’d
even bought something for Glorfindel, though now he wondered if he’d
have the nerve to give it to him. It was a little horse carved
of ivory, exquisitely done. The moment he saw it, Erestor had
fallen in love with it. This afternoon when he’d seen Glorfindel’s
gift of speaking to horses, he knew it had been the right choice.
But now . . .
He watched Glorfindel come
up out of the hold, followed by that Haradrim boy. They went out
to the stern of the ship and the boy pointed out things on the horizon.
Erestor could hear the low murmur of his voice and Glorfindel’s purring
response. Then Glorfindel put his arm around the young man’s
waist.
Erestor retreated into their
cabin.
The cabin was warm and somewhat
close compared to the cool air outside. Erestor removed his jacket;
unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves. He pushed on the round window
at one end and latched it open. Then, he took out the hammock
stored in a bin built into the wall and clipped each of its four ends
into the metal hooks hanging from the ceiling. The hammock now
took up most of the left side of the small cabin. Glorfindel could
sleep on the built-in shelf with the tick mattress across from the hammock.
Erestor would be hung on a spit before he’d sleep in the same bed
with him.
He took off his shoes and stockings
and put them in the corner. Then he exchanged his shirt for a
silk sleeping chemise. He still wore his leggings. Unbraiding
his long dark hair, he took a rare moment to feel pleasure in its silky
weight. He lit a candle which he stuck in the holder near his head.
Then he rummaged through his trunk and removed a book. He thought
for a moment, then pulled his sheathed knife from his belt and hid it
under a pillow in the hammock. Stepping on the recess below the window,
he climbed up into the hammock and attempted to get comfortable but
the cursed thing swung wildly back and forth. Annoyed, he reached out
and grabbed the candle sconce to steady it. He was reading with one
arm propped behind his head when the door creaked open and Glorfindel
entered, humming. Erestor found he was pleased and annoyed to
see him at the same time. These contradictory emotions didn’t
make any sense and the illogic of it just made him more annoyed. “You’re
back,” Erestor said.
“Mmm, yes. It’s a
comely night. The stars are so beautiful . . . like lacework threaded
with gems. You should have come out to see them.”
“I’ve seen them countless
nights. This one is no different.”
Glorfindel sighed. “Why are
we always sparring, Erestor?”
“Because we don’t like
each other?” Erestor closed his book to look at him.
“Actually, I rather like
YOU, you fussy old fool,” Glorfindel said. He unbuckled his
belt and set it aside, then began drawing his tunic over his head.
The bells in his hair shivered with sound.
“Hunh,” Erestor said and
opened his book again. “It seems you favor any pretty young thing
that crosses your path.”
“I didn’t take a vow of
celibacy,” Glorfindel said gently.
Erestor raised his eyes to
look at him and discovered that the warrior had turned his back and
was stripping off his loose trousers. He straightened, his skin
clothed only in the flickering yellow light. Erestor had to catch
his breath at the magnificence of that body, long limbs with muscles
honed and sculpted by hours of battle practice. He wasn’t over-built
as Erestor had seen some warriors become. Instead he was lean,
well proportioned, sleek as an otter. Just perfect. And that beautiful
hair. It rippled down his back like a river surging over rapids.
Erestor wondered how it would feel tangled in his fingers, or better
yet, slithering down his chest. His glance lingered on Glorfindel’s
arse with its artful curves, strong, with that indentation at the hips.
How delightful it would be cupped in his hands. Then Glorfindel turned
and Erestor’s eyes darted down his strong chest, across the rippling
muscles of his abdomen, to the nest of golden curls, and below. . .
. Unconsciously, Erestor licked his lips and then felt heat flood his
face when Glorfindel looked up and discovered his gaze. The Elda
slowly smiled at him. “Do you like what you see?” he asked.
“Impertinent,” Erestor
grumbled, turning away. “You’re actually going to sleep naked.
What if we run aground and there you are, without a stitch on.”
“Then I’ll not be weighed
down by my clothes,” Glorfindel said. “My dear Councilor, always
worrying.” He sat on the edge of the bed and began unbraiding
his hair and sliding the bells out of it. He set them down, one
after another on the bed where they rolled gently back and forth with
the lilt of the ship.
“Why are you doing that?”
Erestor asked.
“I don’t want to disturb
your slumber with noise every time I turn over." He finished
with his task, scooped up the bells, and dropped them in his trunk.
"Sleep well, old friend.”
“Maer dū. Good night, Findel.”
Erestor reached over and snuffed
out the candle. He heard the crunch of the mattress as Glorfindel
got into the bed and then the soft rustle of a linen sheet. It
became quiet: naught but the creak of ropes and mast, the occasional
flap of the sails outside, and the slow rock of the boat. All
of it spoke softly of sleep.
“Erestor,” he heard Glorfindel
whisper.
“What?”
“Put that fine analytical
mind of yours on this problem. Why wasn’t Oiolairë’s groom
there to load him aboard the ship today?”
“They said he was detained.”
“Is that likely? What
more important task would he have than making sure his charge, his master’s
gift, was safely loaded?”
“I do not know, but you’re
correct, it doesn’t seem right,” Erestor said. “I will think on
it. And thank you . . . for the compliment.”
“Don’t get a swelled head,” Glorfindel returned. “Maer dū.”
*****************
rotel - a unit of measure, like a pound
Du-phersa - to gush in Adûnaic, the language of Númenor
Oiolairë - means ever-summer, an evergreen that grows in Númenor
Suilad - greetings
Azra - means "sea" in Adûnaic
Cape of Anfalas - this is made up by the author as Tolkien does not appear to have named the spit of land that sticks out at the north end of the Bay of Belfalas.
Maer dū - good night in Sindarin
**********************