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'...And Finally'

Part 2
 

Minas Tirith

The following day, I found that, unexpectedly, I had nothing requiring my attention until mid afternoon.

I suspected either Glori or Erestor, if not both, were responsible for this, my second morning completely empty of responsibilities and gratefully chose to spend the time exploring the confines of the palace precinct. However my pleasure at this unexpected freedom was quickly dampened by the lack of anyone with whom to share it.

I swiftly discovered that my sons were assiduously avoiding me, my daughter was involved in getting to know some of the ladies who would be making up her court, my lover was engaged in discussions with the Lorien contingent concerning joint security concerns and my foster son was being inducted into the horrors peculiar to the administration of a large realm by his new chamberlain.

My own company having a strong tendency towards gloom at this time, I began to look around me, seeking a distraction.

I found it sitting in one of the inner garden courtyards, equally alone and looking decidedly out of sorts, a condition unusual enough to immediately claim my attention.

As a rule Lindir is a friendly outgoing young elf, with a quick wit and a ready smile, but not this day. Of course, the stay in Gondor could hardly have been the highlight of his life - there had been little enough to occupy him, save for a brief handful of performances, as the palace staff had displayed a quite natural wish to show their newly crowned king and queen what Gondor had to offer in the way of home grown talent.

I imagined his fellow visiting musicians would have been enjoying whatever entertainments the city had to offer, an occupation which, regardless of the temptation, he would probably have felt bound to decline.

In my personal experience, one of the main disadvantages to a so-called 'discreet' relationship has to be the need to conduct oneself as part of a couple while at the same time presenting an unencumbered face to the rest of the world. It led to some difficult compromises.

Added incentive in Lindir's case was probably afforded by the fact that the other party involved in this 'discreet relationship' had been displaying a dizzying shortness of temper and would quite possibly not have shown himself overly indulgent towards youthful adventures amongst the bright lights of a city currently celebrating an overwhelming and conclusive victory.

Lindir started to rise at the sight of me and I dismissed the courtesy with a shake of my head, seating myself down beside him on the bench. For a few minutes we sat in silence and watched the small fountain before us, an object of white marble boasting a boy with a fish which was spouting water in a somewhat weary dribble.

There were a few water plants in the small pond, and a couple of large, lethargic- looking yellow fish. For the rest, we were in a small space of short green grass, a few undistinguished ornamental bushes, and not much else of note. We were surrounded on all four sides by the heavy, manlike architecture of the palace itself.

"Oppressive, isn't it?" I observed at last, taking in our surrounding with a gesture.
.
He blew out a slow breath and leaned back on the bench slightly. "It looks a bit like he’s trying to put the fish out of its misery by strangling it, my lord." he offered somewhat sourly.

We continued to survey the fountain together, quietly enjoying the sensation of misery in company, the absolute lack of any pressure to attempt to appear cheerful.

"How have you been passing your time since our arrival here, Lindir?" I ventured at last. " I imagine you to have been somewhat less than overworked."

Elves are a good deal more given to music than the men of Gondor, who tend to restrict themselves to a few short performances both during and after supper, being of a mind and nature to seek their beds far earlier than we are. In any elven realm there would have been song and celebration all through the night with energy to spare to greet the dawn.

He favored me with a half smile. "I have been busier, my lord." he agreed. "Not, that I mind that much of course." he added quickly, "It‘s been wonderful to actually see the White City with my own eyes, and it’s been interesting to explore, so long as one does not attempt to do so alone, of course."

At my upraised brow he volunteered, "They are unused to elves here, my lord, and none of us feels completely comfortable wandering the streets alone."

This was something that would never have occurred to me but of course it made perfect sense. It was almost the length of an age since elves had walked Minas Tirith in any number, in fact...

"In the time of the Last Alliance it was even so." I told him, "Men had long kept to themselves as had elven kind, it was actually a miracle that the various armies managed to remain combined almost up until the end."

Almost.

I remembered old, painful anger at Oropher, at Isildur. If just a few things had been better managed, a few tempers kept in check towards the end, it might all have finished differently.

"Erestor told me much the same, about the armies of the Last Alliance." he confided in a far more animated voice, his face suddenly coming to life, the light green eyes sparkling with mischief. "His words were that if King Oropher had not been a twice cursed idiot with an ego the size of Gondor we might have suffered only half our losses."

So spoke the child of Mirkwood, Oropher's former realm. I cleared my throat. "I would have hesitated to be so blunt or so lacking in diplomacy," I began, then met his eyes and found myself grinning at him, much to my own surprise "but he was quite right about that. If he hadn't actually had the good sense to die there, I think I might have sought him out and killed him myself after."

We laughed together. He had a nice laugh. It was warm, infectious and inclusive and drew listeners in despite themselves. I noticed him watching me from the corner of his eye as though assessing something. I raised my brow, inclined my head slightly to him.

"It would be too forward of me, my Lord." he said, with a little shake of his head.

"Let me judge," I suggested. "If it is I will keep in mind that I insisted you share your thoughts."

He wrinkled his forehead and then turned to face me, looking very young. "My Lord, I was just wondering what it must be like for you. This was a wonderful, unlooked for victory, of course, but it must have brought back so many painful memories for you. I just thought how many regrets there must be mixed in the joy for you, and how few elves must be left here for you to share those memories with."

No one had asked me this. Not even Glorfindel, usually so well tuned to my moods. No one had thought how my mind had moved back and forth, then and now, down the final months. Before I had been in the front line, armored, my forces arrayed around me, now my sons and fosterling had ridden to a horror I could only too clearly imagine. I think that many forget I was not always a sedentary law master.

Unbelievably, I had said the words aloud. There was no hesitation in Lindir though, he nodded at once.

"My lord, you carry yourself with such dignity, there is always such a sense of calm around you." he said softly. "People forget, I suppose, that in the final stages of the battle for Barad-dur, you were one of the few frontline fighters who were still left standing, and that you were one of the handful still fighting alongside the king and prepared to confront the Dark Lord himself."

I tilted my head to the side and studied him, He was small, pretty and very slight, with pale green eyes and a mass of permanently unruly silver gilt hair. And he was young, so incredibly young that even a mortal would have been aware of the fact. His gaze was earnest and steady though. Not so young in experience perhaps.

"You remembered it though. How is that?" I asked.

He arched his brows and looked amused. "My Lord, I am a musician. They have made more songs about that day than I will ever find the time to learn. I would hope I would know the tale of Earendil's son, the Herald of the High King." He quirked his face charmingly. "Anyway, when I asked Erestor, he told me all about it." he finished.

I contemplated the idea of Erestor as talkative and confiding, recounting tales of battles past, and found my imagination to be wanting. He preferred to avoid reliving those times, even with fellow veterans. That he had felt comfortable talking to this elfling explained a few things to me about what was one of Imladris' more intriguing topics of discussion in certain circles.

My Chief Councilor’s liaison with my favorite musician was often the stuff of intense speculation and considerable humour. I, like most others who were aware of it, acknowledged Erestor's right to risk making a fool of himself with an utterly unsuitable partner and carefully looked the other way. We are immortal. We have more than enough time for everyone to make at least a few errors in judgment. However what I had just heard hinted at an unexpected dept to the relationship.

"What exactly did he tell you?" I asked, intrigued, if not downright curious.

I was surprised to see the notorious little gossip hesitate, then he shrugged slightly and said

"It was about you, after all, so I’m not actually betraying a confidence am I? He told me that you had been one of the greatest warriors in the army of the firstborn, he described you to me as having the look of something out of a tale of the first age, with your hair in warrior braids, a sword in your hand and the death light in your eyes..."

He looked up at me with mischief in his green eyes. "He waxed quite poetic about you my Lord," he chuckled. "I was tempted to put it to music, but he would have been so furious I decided perhaps not."

"I'm surprised he even noticed me," I told him, slightly embarrassed at the turn of the conversation. " I think 'warrior braids, sword wielding and the eyes of death' sounds a fair description of Erestor himself back then."

He leaned forward, eyes now shining with pleasure, forgetting his station and mine, reminding me somewhat of Estel as a child, begging a tale from me.

"Of course. You knew him then." he breathed, thrilled. "Oh please, my Lord. He will never tell me anything about himself in those days. Please, what was he like? I know he was one of the High King’s councilors, and that he bore arms, but nothing more than that."

I tilted his chin with my thumb and raised his face to mine, seeing startlement flood into his eyes at my unexpected action.

"You love him, don't you child?" I asked him softly.

"It's all right," I added reassuringly, "I have known you two were together for some time now. I just had no idea it was such a serious matter. Erestor, as I'm sure you know, would have all his teeth pulled before discussing his private life."

He met my eyes, totally serious.” I love him more than my life, my Lord." He paused, frowning, then raced on. "I know those are just words and over used at that, but I mean them. There is nothing and no one like him, and that he could choose to be with me..." he gave his head a quick shake and was silent for a moment, contemplating this enormity.

"I keep waiting for something to go wrong," he confided "but no matter how young or ignorant I appear , it doesn't seem to bother him."

He smiled charmingly. "When I get upset about my ignorance on a subject he always takes time to explain it to me. Otherwise, he just seems to take me as I am. I think he finds me amusing. I do try to be a better person for his sake so I won't embarrass him by my actions." he added softly. "There is nothing I wouldn’t do for him."

I nodded and put my hand lightly on his shoulder and told him I was glad of it, meaning it sincerely. I then settled to tell him of the Erestor he would almost certainly never know, the spirit of Death to the enemies of his kindred, dark lightning with a long knife in either hand.

The main part of my time in Gondor was being taken up with discussions with my foster son Estel. Fortunately I would not be here long enough to have to get used to calling him Elessar, a name which felt foreign to my tongue. He was now the husband of my daughter and could expect civility from me on her account and who seemed to believe that winning a war was all it would take to earn my forgiveness, blessing and continued love despite the fact that he was the sole reason for my daughter's decision to defy me and remain in Middle Earth to age and eventually die.

While I marveled at this rather simplistic approach, I chose not to disillusion him. It was far easier to nod and smile and remind myself behind gritted teeth that I would soon be gone from this place forever along the Straight Road to live in the West until the breaking of the world, while he would enjoy the extended though still mortal span of years granted him and then be dust on the wind. It was petty and juvenile, but in those first, difficult days it stilled my tongue.

As had been his habit when yet a boy growing up in my house under my care, he sought me out for advice, or to share his plans and ideas, or for him to tap the well of my experience on a multitude of topics, or sometimes just to talk. I gave him of the best that I had to offer, and did it with courtesy and, I hoped, grace. He was a king now after all, no longer just the little mortal fosterling of whom my sons were so fond, and who, when young, had called me ' Ada' and been desolate upon discovering that he was neither an elf nor my son. I think at the time this sadness had hurt my heart almost as much as his own.

I could still remember sitting with a sobbing, confused child on my lap, offering what comfort I could for the first of life’s great sorrows :

“Hush small one, heart’s child. There are ties other than blood. You will always be my son in all the ways that matter, you will always have my love.”

An uncomfortable memory at this point in our lives.

Angry and unforgiving though I was feeling , I found myself remembering past times spent likewise in one another’s company. He had spent a lot of his growing time with my sons and they, being fond of him, had shown some application in teaching him their fighting skills as well as offering him some training in some of their more unfortunate talents, like developing a head for strong ale, but I was the one who had gifted him with his first horse, and I had personally taught him to ride.

He learnt to swim from me as well. We were so close to the river it was unthinkable to raise a small child and not teach him how to swim. So one long, hot summer I had found it a wonderful escape to steal away from my office, collect a delighted young boy child and head down to one of the safe shallow areas of the Bruinen, there to shed clothing and enjoy the fresh coolness of the water, while searching for plants and interesting stones and water life.

He had been a sweet natured child, though a little too serious at times, but who could have blamed him, fatherless as he was and with a mother who kept mainly to her rooms and withdrew from contact with those around her a little more every year. Unlike her, however he showed himself early to have a keen sense of humour and he was an obedient, affectionate child, with an enquiring mind and a deep love for songs and tales of times past.

I used to tell him stories at bedtime when he was small. I would complain loudly about this chore but secretly it was a pleasure to me to have this young life in my care, and I loved that shared time, seated in the half dark next to his bed, telling him of dragons and warriors, the great battles and adventures of a past age, some from personal experience.

Later, as he grew older, this slowly became the time after dinner during which we would perhaps discuss points of history and lore, literature and poetry and always something containing a tale of sorts.

I found as the weeks of my stay in Minas Tirith passed, first for the wedding and then as support for my daughter in her early days as queen and as a source of advice to the very new king that it became more and more difficult to remain angry with him and to maintain the distance I assured myself I would prefer.

It was nearly impossible to set aside the past as nothing and to hate this man that the child had become, the child I had loved with a depth unwise when dealing with a mortal, a creature of few years, with their brief claim to life.

I had pushed him far harder than either one of the sons of my blood, demanding of him a degree of excellence I had never required from them. I would be the first to admit that, had I done so, they might have been the better for it, but where they were concerned I had not been attempting to raise a possible future king,

Attempting and succeeding.

He may have taken my daughter from me and torn my heart and left me with a sorrow that would last as long as time, but in all other things he had conducted himself with excellence. He had displayed for all the world to see qualities of application and intelligence, determination, compassion and an unbending will.

He had made me very proud.

I found myself forced to admit that Arwen’s taste, unlike her common sense, was impeccable.

~*~*~*~*~

Someone less likely than Erestor to come seeking support and comfort from me on a personal matter was hard to imagine. He walked his road alone when it came to such things, being far more likely to discuss the resolution than the initial problem. When queried he would always tell me that he was the councilor and I the lord, and his job was to advise me, not the reverse.

I always had a sneaking suspicion that, having known me too long and too well, he simply lacked faith in my judgment on such matters.

I have known him ever since my brother and I were taken to Lindon to live under the care of the High King. I was very young but no stranger to trauma and deeply distrustful of the world and everyone in it. I had also recently perceived that Elros and I were curiosities, objects of interest and speculation, the representatives of a famous - or, more correctly, infamous - family that had provided Elvenkind with a vast body of tales and song springing from a long catalogue of scandal and that we were being watched eagerly to see if our mixed blood and varied family connections would inspire us to add to this history.

In the murky, complicated world of Lindon court politics, one of the few areas of stability that I found was in Erestor, then a junior councilor who already had the respect of my cousin the King. I heard him to be a terror on the battle field, which was where they had met, a fighter of renown, a more than fair strategist with not an ounce of fear in his slender body.

I was young. I looked him up and down, and having been raised around men who without exception had the look of warriors about them decided that the stories must have been greatly exaggerated.

He was a slender, graceful creature, small for an elf , with creamy skin, shining hair, so black that mine appeared dull brown beside it, slanting amber eyes, somewhat similar in shade to dwarf brandy, of which he could drink copious amounts to no discernable effect. He had a low voice and a fine line in common sense, usually delivered with more than a taste of acid.

He dressed plainly, favoring neutral colors, listened more than he spoke, and walked with a sure step through the quagmire that was elven politics at that time. He carried about him at all times an edginess, a sense of tension barely contained. His temper, even then, was legend. Not the quick, explosive upwelling to which I am occasionally prone but a thing of soft spoken knife-bright ice. The consensus was that it should be avoided at all costs.

Long years after our first meeting, Erestor fought beside me at Barad-dur. By then I knew his worth in battle well enough to be embarrassed by memories of my youthful judgment. There are few I would prefer to have guarding my back, He was tough, focused, and a stranger to panic. His greatest gift was that he never gave up. Ever.

During my first few months in Lindon, not wishing to trouble my already overburdened and at that stage slightly intimidating and larger than life cousin, I learned to take my questions, uncertainties and fears to Erestor. He could be abrupt, he never suffered fools gladly, even if they were highly insecure young elves of royal descent, but he would never refuse to answer a question. He could be relied upon to put problems into perspective. He judged nothing, was upset by nothing, embarrassed by less than nothing. Most importantly, he always told me the truth and his advice usually worked.

When I finally moved to settle permanently in Imladris it was unthinkable that he would not come with me and I truly have no idea how I would have managed without him had he said 'no'. No problem was too large, too complicated, or too delicate for him to manage. We had a good working relationship .He always asked my opinion, listened carefully to my wishes, and then did exactly as he pleased. Privately he has been one of only four people in my life to whom I have found myself able to give absolute trust.

In light of all this the last thing I expected was to come back to my coldly impressive rooms in Minas Tirath after dinner to find him curled up bonelessly, cat like, in one of those vastly uncomfortable chairs which look very elegant but in actual fact are agony after the first half hour.

I took one look at the posture, the half empty glass and those dark brooding eyes which seemed to be reluctant to meet mine and experience sent me to pour myself a drink. I soon found my instincts to have been good. I needed it.

He watched me taking off my formal outer robe in silence and gave me time to settle opposite him before speaking. “Do you remember meeting my parents?" he asked, in that low, cool voice. "You might recall my introducing them to you shortly before they crossed the sea at the end of the second age."

Erestor had a habit of starting conversations in the middle, with no explanation as to why the topic was being pursued. We would reach the point when he was ready.

I gave him a non committal nod. I was tired, concerned about Glorfindel, vaguely depressed, and had absolutely no idea where this might be heading. I sipped my drink and watched him rubbing his fingers together absently as he spoke, a sure sign of his discomfort. Erestor did not fidget as a rule.

“I know they will be looking forward to our reunion. We have not seen one another for such a very long time.” His tone was musing, thoughtful, but held a strange edge, His eyes were on the finger he was running idly around the rim of his glass. "They've wondered about the direction my life took after they left, I suppose. The war was newly over, they knew I planned to remain in service with you. I know like many others they assumed you would eventually accept the High Kingship-"

He broke off upon seeing me frown warningly. This was a disagreement from another time and place and one I had thought never to have to revisit. I had rejected the chance to claim my right to succeed Gil- galad for a variety of reasons not one of which did I have any wish to revisit these several millennia later.

"No, no that isn't the thing that worries me." he said hastily. We had been here before, and both remembered it as a painful place indeed. "Definitely not that." He actually laughed. " My career at Imladris is something I look forward to describing with pride. You have done well by me, my lord..."

My lord ? I was instantly alert. The only times Erestor called me 'my lord' in private tended to be followed by such interesting personal confidences as " Arwen is spending a lot of time with Estel, isn't she?" or "I am a little concerned about the twins..."

"What appears to be the problem this time, Erestor?" I cut in. He looked to be ready to talk a circle round the facts for most of the night , something of which I knew him to be fully capable.

He bit his lower lip, looked at the floor, out the window, back to his glass, anywhere but at me. I closed my eyes and took both a deep breath and a good swallow of my brandy, and waited. When nothing was forthcoming I gave him a little prod.

"Erestor, I am more tired than you can begin to imagine. The walls of this place feel as though they are closing in on me. You may recall that I have never liked Minas Tirith. I really don't feel up to dragging whatever it is out of you piece by piece. Please just tell me what is worrying you."

He frowned into the distance and then finally in a small and miserably embarrassed voice, he said. "I despise myself for even thinking this, but how do you think my family will react to Lindir?"

He even blushed slightly, something I would not have believed possible.

I surveyed this potential death trap in silence. I had already decided to leave unmentioned my earlier conversation with the young elf, with the idea that my Chief Councilor’s business was his own, especially now that my curiosity regarding Lindir's intent had been so thoroughly addressed by the elf in question.

I knew that Erestor would need to have been deluded to believe that their affair was unknown. Imladris is a hotbed of gossip, at the best of times, and while, to my knowledge, no one had ever asked him directly, Erestor missed very little and must have been aware of the comment they aroused.

To be fair, they made an unusual couple. Lindir, the little blonde Silvan elf, sweet voiced, hugely sociable, with a reputation for being a repository for all the latest gossip, and for being the first to arrive and the last to leave from any type of celebration. His gossip, however, stopped short of the malicious and I had always found him to be pleasant and entertaining company.

Musicians tend to travel a fair amount, and over time they acquire polish. Like most of his kind Lindir had little trouble fitting himself in to any company in which he found himself. However, his education had been basic, his family unremarkable, and so far as I knew he had made his way alone in the world from a young age.

By comparison, Erestor was Erestor.

I thought back to my scant acquaintance with Erestor's family. Aman-born, pure bred Noldor to their fingertips. Proud, proper and possessing an inherent sense of their own superiority. I am the heir to two royal lines. I am Turgon's great-grandson and was blood kin to the Noldorin High King, yet they had managed to make me feel vaguely uncertain as I had not since I was very young indeed. Being Herald - and lover - to a king has a way of building confidence and he had taught me to think well of myself. Even so, I barely held my own.

Had Lindir been Lorien born, -one of those tall aristocratic blondes they seem to produce so easily - with some noble connections or at least a nodding acquaintance with the Lady who, rebel or not, certainly had the right pedigree, it would have been awkward but at least possible. As things stood... I went and refilled my glass, pouring one for him as well and went to sit beside him.

For a time we drank in silence as I ordered my thoughts. Finally instead of the easy reassurances that came immediately to mind I decided to return to him his unfailing gift to me. I simply told him the truth as I saw it.

"Erestor, best of advisors and dearest of friends," I said, watching him out of the corner of my eye. " your family is going to hate and despise him. He is too young, too Silvan, too talkative, too - too Middle Earth and foreign to put it bluntly."

He proceeded to choke on the very good dwarf brandy I had given him. Whatever he had expected of me, it had not been this. I patted his back, being very careful not to smile and continued. "I hardly understand what you feel there can be to discuss. However, I do have one important question for you."

"And what would that be?" he asked, a little breathless, with the edge of a warning to his voice.

"Is he a toy, as is generally assumed, or do you actually love the child?" I asked.

He flashed me a look from those amazing jewel eyes which would have frozen most people. I simply sat back and raised an eyebrow at him and waited. After a minute he stopped trying to threaten me and turned thoughtful.

"I've never really thought about it in those terms before" he admitted, biting his lip again and swirling the contents of his glass. "I know I enjoy him. He's warm and kind, and very talented , he can make me almost cry with laughter, but he knows when to let me be."

He gave it a little further thought. "I haven't had better company in my bed in more than an age either," he admitted with a rather wicked smile, flashing me a quick glance.

"Do you love him?" I persisted, refusing to be diverted.

Erestor frowned into the glass. "I don't think that I have known him long enough to use those words." he said slowly "I do know that, given time, I might well find this to be so. Time," he added, glancing at me, “which we do not have.”

I nodded, and reached out to take his hand. "Erestor," I said " your family will almost certainly not approve. And there will be many other families dealing with similar upheaval. We have made our own culture, our own norms here. You came to Arda in your youth, but I... I was born here, as were my parents before me and their parents before them, and there are many like me.”

He sat sipping the brandy, nodding very slightly at my words, his coolly assessing gaze turned inward.

“To me and to those like me the Undying Lands are not our home.” I explained quietly. “This is home, this place with its customs, its problems and its people. All of us are going to have to adjust to ways established since the Times of the Trees, while they will have to learn to accept such things as very young, and somewhat exotic little wood elves."

I gave his hand a squeeze, silently thanking my sons for our earlier conversation which had left my mind very clear on this score at least. His focus had changed now, he had returned and was watching me intently.

"We may be going ‘home’ soon," I pulled my face slightly at the taste and feel of the word in this context. " but we are going home as we are. We are carrying with us what we have found here and who we have become. Else it was all for nothing. All the glory, all the pain, all the loss, this whole great adventure. For nothing. I will not allow that to happen. Our dead lie buried here. We have to honor their legacy. We will change nothing, hide nothing."

"And that would include exotic little wood elves, wouldn't it?" he asked me, with a strangely gentle smile.

I nodded "That will include exotic little wood elves carrying the music and song of this place with them." I agreed.

Somehow the words brought the leaving just a little closer to me, gave it another layer of reality, and I blinked back the tears that were beginning to sit just a little too close to the surface. He always knew. Next moment, his arms were around me, his cheek against my hair and I was held close and warm in an embrace which, since my young days, had become the final answer to life's more unanswerable pains.

"We will honor their legacy together." he said softly. "The music and the song."

Yes, we would return 'home' and we would honor our past and our dead - and over here, beyond range of the bent seas my daughter would live and love, and bear children, and make music of her own. And finally one day she would travel down the road my brother had chosen and, like him, be lost to me for all eternity. I rested my head on his shoulder and, not for the first time in our long friendship, my tears dampened that fall of gleaming black hair.

~*~*~*~*~

Part 3

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