Chapter 15

“Erestor, wait a moment.”

Erestor stopped in surprise. The unadorned, grassy courtyard outside his office was one of the last places he would have expected to find Elrond. Despite, or perhaps because of, having spent years living in armed camps, the Half-elf’s interest in matters military appeared no more than minimal and confined to training several times a week with sword and bow as was expected of any well-born male of fighting age. However, here he was.

The Princeling came to a graceful halt before him, then paused to look around. Laslech, leashed after an earlier excursion to the kitchens had led to a brief exchange between Elrond and a badly hungover King, which had ended in clear instructions regarding leads and forbidden areas, sat at his feet and scratched herself. “You’d think they could have made it a bit less cheerless,” Elrond commented. “Not exactly warm and welcoming, is it?”

“We’re here to work, you see, not to enjoy our surroundings.”

Erestor shifted the heavy books of inventory records more securely in the crook of his arm. Someone, possibly the King, had taken a sudden interest in the contents of the weapons stores. Elrond turned his head to the side to read the embossed titles.

“Oh, is he still fussing about that? He got an inventory back from one of the watch stations that failed to tally and he’s been checking up on everyone else since then. I brought you these – for tonight.”

He held out a dark velvet bag, which Erestor looked at uncertainly. Elrond thrust it towards him. “I said I’d lend you some jewellery for tonight. I thought this would look nice?” The last few words were offered on a querying note and Erestor responded at once by taking the bag and opening the drawstring to look inside.

Dark red stones that his mind informed him had to be rubies gleamed back at him, seeming to glow with an inner life. He looked up wordlessly. “They’re strung on silk thread. You braid them into your hair,” Elrond explained helpfully. “I’m sorry, I only found five strands. My first thought was moonstones, but these are better. They’ll compliment you eyes. They’re lovely and warm … the rubies I mean.”

His voice trailed off and they shared silence, then Erestor said carefully. “These look quite valuable. I’ve never handled rubies before, nor any other precious stone. I’m grateful of course, but…”

“They’re a loan,” Elrond said firmly. “If they were a gift you could worry about it. Elros and I share things all the time…” Erestor saw how he flinched as he spoke his brother’s name and was reminded of the reason for the evening’s festivities to which he had, true to the Half-elf’s word, received an invitation. He reached out instinctively, resting the palm of his hand lightly against a smooth cheek. His eyes moved unbidden to warm, full lips and he heard Elrond draw in a breath, but they were interrupted by a low, cool voice.

“Elrond? How fortunate. Perhaps you can help me.”

Tall, beautiful and very pregnant, Galadriel stood in a beam of sunlight, her face a picture of innocent charm, her eyes thoughtful.

Elrond shoved the bag and Laslech’s lead into Erestor’s hand. “Wear them,” he said quietly, his eyes intense. “Please? They’ll suit you. And can you look after her while I see to this? She’s not allowed inside till Ereinion calms down. I’ll not be long.”

Not waiting for a response from Erestor he straightened up, turned and shook back his wayward hair. “Yes, Lady? How can I help you?"

She had a wish, she said, to see what progress had been made with the new library, built to replace the rather cramped and inadequate rooms that had been part of the original design of the Palace. Once indoors they made their way slowly in the direction of the new development, with Galadriel speaking amiably about generalities. Elrond kept up, listened politely and tried to relax. The Aman-born regularly made not only him but most of his generation ill at ease. There was something about them that was simply – other.

The corridors were quiet at this time of the day, and the weak sunlight slanting in through the long windows divided the floor into alternating bars of light and darkness. Their footsteps echoed slightly, counterpoint to the swish of her gown. For some reason Elrond felt a small rush of relief each time another Elf came into view.

She had been discussing the difficulties involved in finding reliable servants for the duration of their stay in the little house she and Celeborn had taken overlooking the beach, and he was unprepared when she suddenly slanted a look at him from her strange, sea-hued eyes.

“This was your first encounter with your hidden side, was it not?”

They stopped between the windows, in light-bracketed shadow. Galadriel seemed even taller than she did in sunlight, her eyes glittered eerily and her half smile had a secretive air.

“Last night?”

She raised an eyebrow slightly, moved back into sunlight that caught the silver in her hair and nodded. “Those gifts and skills will take time and practice to master. This is merely a beginning.”

She walked on in silence, light and shadow, swish and step, allowing him to consider her words, which he did.

“What happened to me last night?”

Without answering, Galadriel passed through the open doorway into the new library, Elrond trailing behind her. Work had been completed for the day, and the cavernous main room was deserted. When finished, it would be remarkable. Long reading tables, as well as work stations for the copyists, were situated beneath the high windows which stretched almost the length of the outer wall, creating a well lit area dedicated to work and study. The rest of the space was taken up with empty blond wood bookcases and scroll holders, save for an area well away from the shelves where there was a cosy fireplace, surrounded by couches and chairs. They were currently covered with dust sheets, as were the tables, giving the room an abandoned, unwelcoming air. Double doors, one of which stood ajar, led out onto what would eventually be a garden of fragrant foliage, with benches looking out over the sea to the harbour.

Galadriel picked her way across a floor littered with offcuts and boxes, heading for the couches before the fireplace. Elrond hurried to catch up with her, unaccustomed to pregnant women, uncertain what was expected of him, terrified she would trip. He brushed the cover off hastily, watching sawdust rise into the light where it hovered and danced. Galadriel staggered slightly, causing his heart to rise into his throat, and he reached out an automatic arm to her, which she grasped to steady herself as she sat, her other hand resting lightly on her belly.

For the instant the contact between the three of them lasted , Elrond had the strangest sense of a far shadow of destiny, shot through with an uneasy mixture of warmth and horror, and then it was gone, leaving him facing Galadriel, who was looking up at him with eyes briefly narrowed in darkened interest before gesturing him to sit beside her. There was a small table centred between the chairs, and he chose to perch upon this instead.

The room was oppressively quiet save for the all-pervasive voice of the sea, a sound which, for all his life, Elrond would associate with Lindon. Galadriel was sitting with her back to the light, her face in shadow. The impression she gave was of a cloud of silver gilt hair and a pair of brilliant eyes. Elrond become very aware of the fact that they were completely alone. This was emphasised when she laughed softly, the sound carrying a note of moondark and alien shores, making him shiver.

“Last night you accidentally stepped into the space I occupy. Done properly, this skill will allow you to speak mind to mind with another of like ability or to read hearts and determine worth. Untrained, it remains an invasive gift capable of far more harm than good.”

“You laughed at me and then it was as though a door closed,” Elrond said thoughtfully, curious in spite of himself. “Before that there were pictures, emotions…but disconnected, meaningless to me.”

“That is because you lack training,” Galadriel told him gravely, her low voice picking up some slight echo from the empty room, causing the skin on the nape of his neck to prickle. “This is why these gifts are given to our kind and not the Secondborn. We have the time required to master them, which is something they lack.”

Restless as her reputation implied, she rose and paced over to the study area, forcing him to follow. She spoke as she walked, her voice rising and fading with the strange acoustics of the half-finished room. “As you age, so you will grow in power and skill, but while you are young you must learn the many possibilities of this craft and discover where your strengths lie.” She stood and looked out of the window for a moment, then glanced back at him over her shoulder. “This is the way of these things for such as you and I. This is who we are.”

“I want to be a healer, not – not whatever this is,” Elrond said, taking firm hold of his abraded nerves and squinting to avoid looking into the sinking sun. He had been almost tempted by what she might be able to teach him, regardless of how uneasy she made him. However, the word ‘must’ had stung, and he said the first thing that came to his mind and was startled to realise that he spoke the truth. The training he sought was not in Galadriel’s gift, but in Ereinion’s. He forced himself to turn and look at her and was disconcerted when she simply nodded and smiled her small, pale smile.

“Yes, of course you do,” she agreed. “You have the potential to become a healer of great ability and it will come to you in its time, as will the other. Both take application and patience, but for both you have a gift. They are facets of the destiny that will one day be yours.”

As she spoke she stroked her hand lightly over the place where her babe rested, as though in communion. Elrond had a good sense of things happening here that were beyond his knowledge, a feeling that he instinctively responded to by mentally stepping back.

“My lady, at the moment I have no urge to explore any of my – other gifts,” he began, seeing his opportunity to close the subject but, inevitably, his curiosity got the better of him, as always. “Though – I am curious, perhaps you could show me how you shut me out of your mind last night?”

Galadriel gave him an amused look. “That? I would teach you that, of course, though not in isolation from other skills. However, those actions were not mine, but Glorfindel’s. Many of us born in the West have the aptitude for such things, though I had always thought him singularly uninterested in farspeech.”

Turning, she made her way across to the doors leading out onto the fledgling garden, stopping in a beam of reddening light that added flame to her hair, making her momentarily look unfamiliar and strange.

“I think it will be long before either of us understands why the Valar chose to continue Lúthien’s line amongst both First and Secondborn, but nothing, not your choice, not your gifts, certainly not your brother’s fate, are casual matters. Allowing me to train you will simply confirm rather than delay your destiny, young one. The Valar leave nothing to chance.”

~*~*~*~*~

The dinner was long and, in Erestor’s opinion, successful. The food was both plentiful and well-prepared, the wine chosen from amongst the best vintages available. Gil-galad was known to believe that a host who stinted his guests could be regarded as suspect on many levels, and was earning a reputation for setting an excellent table. The music from the gallery made a pleasant backdrop to the rather disjointed but enjoyable conversation to be had at such times.

Gil-galad sat at the main table, flanked by Elros and by Silbaron, who had been elected by the council to be Elros’ chief advisor. He was a Man of middle years from one of the settlements near the mouth of the Anduin, bearded as was their way, dark haired and grave eyed but, if the many laughing exchanges between himself and the High King were anything to judge by, certainly good humoured.

Erestor had been seated approximately where Elrond had indicated, between one of the archivists and the wife of one of the healers. She turned out to be a good dinner companion, having a great deal of information about many of the guests. Erestor, from habit, collected information as others collect good plate or tapestries, and was happy to sit and listen, offering occasional murmurs of encouragement for her to continue.

Elrond and Glorfindel sat not far from the high table, hosts to the Men who would form the nucleus of the Númenórean court. They sat together, sharing the canopy of estate, although the original idea had been for them to be placed closer to either end of the group. Elrond had arranged for them to be seated together before he and Erestor left the Hall that morning, implying it was somehow his fault that Glorfindel was excluded from the relative isolation of the King’s table. Having observed the quietly spoken hero’s discomfort when faced with a situation that forced him to make casual conversation, Erestor felt a rush of sympathy for him.

As it turned out, Glorfindel needed to make very little effort, as Elrond went out of his way to be charming and hospitable, apparently determined to make a good impression on his brother’s behalf. Erestor sat, Elrond’s rubies laced through his hair, and tried not to stare too hard at the captivating being who smiled and laughed and exchanged words and toasts up and down the table.

After dinner, the guests moved outside to the courtyard which, as was the custom in the evenings, had been transformed with coloured lanterns and clusters of cushions for casual seating. Torches in sconces flared at intervals around the square, adding to the festive atmosphere. While they mingled and talked, the tables and benches were removed and the Hall prepared for dancing. Erestor obtained a cup of wine and found a good vantage point to watch the crowd.

The Princeling, he immediately noticed, was on the opposite side of the square and in deep conversation with his brother. Erestor was struck by the contrast between them – the same hair and eyes, of similar build and yet so very different. Elros had a wider face, his hair was smooth and very neat and he seemed a little broader across the shoulders. He was certainly more restrained and deliberate in his movements compared to his brother’s quicksilver grace. Erestor wondered what they were discussing so intensely.

“….and then she went outside and sat on one of the benches, and I no longer existed. It was like being lectured by Maedhros.”

“You need to stay away from her. She makes my nerves itch.”

The twins stood together off to one side, sharing a rare few minutes of public privacy. Elros was surreptitiously watching a small group of young Elves on the far side of the square. He had no place in such circles; not only had his features changed over time to reflect his ties to the Secondborn, but as a King in training, the company of his peers was something he had been obliged to forfeit.

Elrond knew everyone in these little cliques, although on the whole he remained uninvolved, set apart by his status as a descendant of legends and Gil-galad’s de facto heir. Now he followed his brother’s gaze and wondered at his interest. He usually found Gelladar, Bainon and their friends self-absorbed, boring, and interested in little more than riding, weaponry and sex. Well, he lacked personal experience but he was fairly sure there was nothing wrong with sex.

“Bainon’s father wants him to bind with Dalbros’ eldest daughter,” he offered. “It’s a good match. Of course he thinks he can do better.”

The proximity of the shadow of their separation all but covered the twins, but in a final act of defiance they tried their best to hold onto the last few threads of normal life. This often took the form of gossip, sharing rumours and guesses in a way that would soon be beyond their reach forever. Of one accord they considered Bainon and both snorted at the presumption. Bainon’s father held a position within Gil-galad’s growing administration that was no more than middling, defining the limits to which he could aspire in his efforts to see his son and daughter decently matched.

Some Elves bonded for love, Elrond contemplated, but at court the majority simply pursued the most advantageous match available. Like Bainon’s sister for example, with her red-blonde hair and unusually dark eyes, and her misguided hopes of attracting the interest of a King. Elrond found the whole concept depressing. He was about to mention this to Elros but the uncrowned king of Númenor had just been approached by one of his new councillors and, all gracious smiles, reminiscent of Ereinion on a bad day, he excused himself, leaving Elrond to watch his departing back, the chill fingers of loss brushing his heart.

~*~*~*~*~

Gil-galad stood a little apart from the crowd that always gathered about him during social events, a regal figure clad in deep scarlet, his hair bound with twists of ruby-studded mithril. Catching Elrond’s eye, he beckoned him with a brief motion of his head. He had seen the moment of vulnerability, quickly masked, and once again wondered which of the brothers would crack first. They had accepted their separate futures with seeming equanimity but, being far more intuitive than most gave him credit for, he sensed the pain and resentment that hovered just below the surface. He watched Elros walk away and wished, for the umpteenth time, that he knew what had really happened that day on the beach with Eönwë.

Elrond’s first action was to try, using as much discretion as was possible given the difference in their heights, to determine the contents of Gil-galad’s wine cup, which the King helpfully lowered to waist level. “Twice watered,” he explained briefly.

Elrond grinned. “I wonder you can face it. In your place I’d be seeking my bed early tonight.”

Gil-galad smiled wryly and shrugged. “An idle wish. When this ends I have a meeting that should last at least two hours. I’ll be lucky to see my bed before dawn.”

“Or Glorfindel,” Elrond added blandly, sipping wine. Something flickered in his cousin’s eyes and was gone. There was a pause and then Gil-galad glanced swiftly around before drawing a little closer to Elrond and lowering his voice.

“Have you noticed anything…unusual about him today?”

Elrond blinked. “Unusual? No, I don’t think so. What do you mean?”

“Just unusual, that’s all. Sort of…decisive and …brisk.”

“Brisk?” Elrond considered the word. “Not really, no. Though last night we shared a bit of a strange experience.”

“Last night?”

Elrond paused. This was as much Glorfindel’s story as his. Still, common sense told him he needed to confide this to Ereinion. He was out of his depth with Galadriel.

“I…I saw her outside watching the sea. Glori and I were talking and then I seemed to go – to go somewhere else. Inside her mind, or something like that. And when I came back to myself I could hear her laughing – in my head. And then Glori did something – she told me today that it was him – and he shut her out. He didn’t want to talk about it later. She wants to train me. At least, that’s what she seemed to be saying today,” he finished.

He would have been horrified to know how young he looked and sounded.

“Who?” Gil-galad was staring at him blankly, trying to keep up and failing.

“Who….? Oh, your aunt Galadriel. Sorry.”

Gil-galad spluttered on a mouthful of wine. “You tried to play mind games with Galadriel?”

“No, no, it wasn’t deliberate. I have no idea what I did. It’s never happened before.”

Gil-galad compressed his lips, mentally shut out the crowd around them and extended his full attention to Elrond, whose disquiet was patent. He spoke slowly, picking his words with care. “These skills tend to belong to those born over the Sea, or to the Eldest, who first saw life beside Cuiviénen, but in your case I think this might be your heritage from Melian. If you want advice in dealing with it, I’ll help you find someone suitable to talk to. If not, let it be. There are no rules.”

There were rules, of course, but not for his cousin, he decided. The twins had been raised by those who were not their kin, and the advice and training that should have come from Dior’s daughter had been lost to them. Gil-galad considered who he could trust to talk to Elrond about such matters. It was a short list. Elrond’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, well he certainly looks different”

He followed Elrond’s gaze to Glorfindel, who had paused to speak to Dalbros. Normally unobtrusive in his style of dress, tonight he outshone the Half-elf, who had settled for silver-grey trimmed with black and the moonstones that had been Lúthien’s gift to Dior. Glorfindel wore iridescent shades of green and rather a lot of gold jewellery. His golden hair was braided and knotted and had strands of little green stones woven through it. Even more unusual was his demeanour. He was in the midst of what appeared to be a fairly high-spirited exchange with Dalbros and Erestor. Elrond and Gil-galad exchanged glances.

“I noticed earlier that he seems to have remembered you gave him permission to raid the Treasury if he needed jewellery,” Elrond said, amused and still rather impressed.

“He’s been strange since he woke me this morning,” Gil-galad volunteered. “He more or less ordered me to start confiding in him. Something about us being more open with each other…”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“No, no, I suppose not. Just – very unlike him.”

Glorfindel became aware of their attention and disengaged smilingly from Dalbros after a few words to Erestor. His first action on joining them was to eye Gil-galad’s wine cup suspiciously.

“Twice watered,” Elrond told him in a voice that suggested it was all his work.

“What’s this about Galadriel?” Gil-galad asked bluntly.

Glorfindel raised a golden brow in Elrond’s direction, surprised that he had mentioned the night’s occurrence. “Oh, she was just being herself, I’m afraid,” he said, shrugging. “She’s harmless really – .”

Gil-galad snorted. “She wants to train his mind skills. I think Elrond needs to find someone a bit more reliable - she’ll be off wandering east or south or some such once the babe’s born, looking for something new to meddle with.” Unless the child’s a boy, he added to himself.

“I don’t want to learn about all that. I want to be a healer,” Elrond said in a low voice. One of his assistants chose that moment to come and whisper to Gil-galad that the Hall was in readiness for the next stage of the festivities. He paused, then held up a hand, asking for a few more minutes, and turned back to his cousin.

“Yes, but you must learn to manage this, too,” he said, gently but firmly. “You can’t go around accidentally invading people’s minds. No reason you can’t do both, of course. If you’re serious this time about healing, come and talk to me tomorrow and I’ll see what I can arrange. As for the other…I’ll speak to Galadriel. I won’t allow her to make demands on you, but you and I will need to agree on someone else who can guide you instead.”

“Can’t you teach me, Glori? She seemed impressed by whatever it was you did.”

Glorfindel sipped his wine and shook his head. “ I can’t teach you,” he said seriously. “It’s a bit like singing. Most Elves sing for pleasure, some of us are very good, but only a few actually train as singers. Like everyone I grew up with I had the potential, but I never showed much talent for abilities like farspeech. Since…since my return I seem able to do things that were closed to me before. Even so, I remain untrained. Which means I can’t train you.” He looked off into the darkness for a moment and then his face cleared. “But I know who can. Leave it for tonight, let me talk with Gil and I’ll tell you my idea later.”

Elrond caught Gil-galad’s eye as he was about to lead the way back inside for dancing and song. “You’re right,” he muttered. “Very strange. But in a good way.”

~*~*~*~*~