Fic: Worth Waiting For - part 1
Dec. 23rd, 2007 10:47 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
aglarien1.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tolkien_slashy_swapsTitle: Worth Waiting For (1/4)
Author: Aglarien
Beta: Erviniae
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rúmil/Erestor
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Not mine, with the exception, as always, of the cat. The great Master Tolkien’s estate owns everything else. I promise to return his elves when I’m done playing with them.
Request: I love Erestor. Please don't put two warriors or two scribes together. I'd like a small sweet scribe and a tall strong warrior. I also like librarian/Rúmil. I'd like the story to start with a bit of angst and *maybe* develop into a hurt/comfort story, but that's not a necessity.
Summary: Erestor finally finds an unexpected love that was worth waiting for.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2007 Slashy Santa Fic Swap. Erestor, being the efficient chief counselor that he is, didn’t want to totally cooperate and be an ordinary scribe or librarian, but he is small and awfully sweet, and isn’t a warrior. I hope it pleases. My special thanks to Tena, Phyncke and Chaotic Binky for their help with the plot, and to Chaotic Binky for her invaluable help with injuries, especially head injuries, symptoms, and healing.
For Mi-Chan.
Timeline: 130 T.A.
Worth Waiting For
Haldir stepped quietly into the library of Lothlorien, sighing under his breath when he saw his brother pretending to read, the younger Elf’s gaze fixed instead on the back of the small, black-robed chief librarian. Ignoring Rúmil for the moment, Haldir walked to where the librarian stood on a short stepladder replacing books on shelves and said, “Master Erestor, the Lord and Lady have requested your presence.”
“Hmmm?” Erestor said, turning to look at the Marchwarden. “Now?”
“Aye. They await you in their quarters, as they wish to speak to you privately,” Haldir answered.
Nodding to the Galadhel, Erestor descended the ladder, brushing any trace of dust from his hands as he did so. With one quick run of his hands over his immaculately braided hair, he left the library.
Haldir walked over to where Rúmil lounged in his chair. “Why do you watch him, little brother?” he asked.
“He fascinates me,” Rúmil replied. “For nearly one hundred and thirty years he has lived amongst us, and yet no one really knows much about him. Where is he from? His coloring declares him a Noldo, yet he is shorter and slighter than those we know – Elrond and Glorfindel, for instance. And where does he come from? Sometimes I can catch a glimpse of something in his eyes that I cannot quite understand. The way he speaks is different too. I thought at first it was because he did not hail from the Golden Wood, but now I think it is because he is very old.” What remained unsaid was that Erestor was very beautiful.
“He may be,” Haldir said, sitting down opposite his brother. “What is certain, however, is that he holds the favor of the Lord and Lady. I have witnessed them talking with him in unguarded moments as a close friend – almost a family member,” he whispered. “Do not let your fascination lead to feelings for him. It would not be taken kindly if you thought to toy with him, and he has never failed to spurn any advance made to him. I have always known him to be a gentle, quiet Elf, but you know most Elves here find him all too quiet and cold.”
“I think beneath that coldness there beats a warm heart, brother, and perhaps he is just shy. Sometimes there is pain in his eyes, and I do not think his life before he came here was a peaceful one. But do not fear. When have you ever known me to “toy” with anyone?” Rúmil said. “I leave that to my brothers, and I have no desire to earn the wrath of the Lord and Lady.”
~~~*~~~
Erestor entered Celeborn and Galadriel’s private rooms after knocking on the door and hearing a quiet bid to enter.
“Come and join us, my friend,” Celeborn said, motioning to a chair beside them. Galadriel filled a goblet with wine and handed it to Erestor.
There was no awe in Erestor’s eyes. Although he esteemed the Lord and Lady for their wisdom, justice, and kindness, he valued them greater as old friends. Taking the goblet with a nod of thanks, he settled himself in the chair and took a sip of the wine. “What news calls me from my hallowed library and out from under the gaze of my silent watcher?” he asked.
“News? Why do you think there would be news?” Celeborn asked with a grin. “Can old friends not simply share a cup of wine?”
Erestor snorted. “You did not call me from my work in the middle of the day to take a cup of wine with you, old friend. And sending Haldir as messenger? He obviously brought you a missive, and after reading it, you sent him straight on to me.”
Galadriel laughed softly. “I told you we were wrong to send Haldir instead of one of the servants to carry the message,” she said to Celeborn. “But who is this silent watcher you speak of?” she asked Erestor.
Erestor leaned back in his chair. “Haldir’s brother, Rúmil, has once again taken to sitting in the library and pretending to read, now that he is off duty, but all the while his eyes are fixed on me – unless I look at him, and then they fly in an instant to the floor, the wall, his neglected book – anywhere but me. I would think it amusing, were it not for the fact that he is wasting too much of his time ruminating over me and trying to figure me out.” He sighed. “But come, tell me why you called me here.”
Galadriel sat across from Erestor and clasped her hands on her lap. “We have received a letter from Elrond,” she said. “He has asked for you.”
Erestor’s grey eyes flickered with light. “I do not want this, as dearly as I miss Elrond and Glorfindel. All I wish for is peace, quiet, and solitude.”
“We know, Erestor,” Celeborn said quietly. “And so does Elrond. He understands, and does not ask for you to join him lightly.” Those who knew Erestor’s history were few: other than Celeborn and Galadriel, only Elrond, Círdan and Glorfindel held his secret. Only they knew from whence he had come, and that Erestor had been with Ereinion Gil-galad when they had travelled to the Mouths of Sirion, too late to rescue the Elflings Elros and Elrond. Only they knew that it was Erestor who had stood beside Gil-galad for many centuries and helped to rule his kingdom: his secret confidant, friend, and counselor. Only they knew that it was to Erestor that Gil-galad had entrusted Elrond and Elros for their upbringing when the Elflings had been returned to them. Only they knew how Gil-galad’s death had broken the Elf, and how after the battle Erestor had fled to the haven of Lothlórien to restore his soul.
“I have found healing here, and the quiet under the great trees has restored my peace. I do not wish to leave, even for Elrond,” Erestor said softly.
Galadriel reached out and took Erestor’s hands into her own. “Erestor, Elrond has built a safe haven in Imladris, and you can dwell in peace there. Celebrían is with child, and Elrond seeks your help, for there is no one else he can trust to aid him in the running of his realm. He does not want to choose between the good of Imladris and the good of his family.”
“Celebrían is with child?” Erestor whispered. Why had he not guessed this time would eventually come? “But what of Glorfindel? Can he not assist Elrond?”
“Glorfindel is the captain of Imladris’ security. He cannot help in the way that Elrond needs, Erestor,” Celeborn replied. “But there is another reason that Elrond asks for you – another role he asks you to take.”
“What other role?” Erestor demanded.
“My daughter is carrying twins, Erestor,” Galadriel said softly. “He wishes for his old teacher to instruct his sons. There is no one else to whom he would entrust this task, save himself. Will you not go for their sakes?”
“Twins? Sons?” Erestor was carried back to his days in Lindon. Memories of the happy days with Elros and Elrond that had washed away the recollection of all of the horrors that had gone before filled his mind. He could not deny Elrond. He would go to Imladris. “I will go,” he said quietly. “I will help Elrond and I will teach his sons.”
Over the next few days, Erestor prepared to leave, turning the library over to his assistant and tying up any loose ends. He won the battle with Celeborn and Galadriel to send only one guard with him. Winter would soon be upon them and they would travel faster and surer over the Misty Mountains with only two.
~~~*~~~
Rúmil checked the straps on his horse’s saddle one last time as he stood in the clearing below Erestor’s talon and waited with his brothers, making sure saddlebags and sword sheath were firmly attached. Erestor’s horse and a third for packing supplies and Erestor’s few belongings stood alongside Rúmil’s stallion.
“Better you than me, brother,” Orophin said quietly. “I do not think I would care to escort our colorless librarian even to the border. He is too much of a cold fish for me.”
“Hush!” Rúmil whispered. “You do not know of what you speak, little brother, and if you do not wish to be consigned to the northern fences for the next century, you will not let our Lord or Lady hear you speak of their friend in such a manner.”
Haldir merely stood and waited, wondering just what it was that Rúmil saw in the librarian that fascinated him so, and finding no suitable answer. That Erestor was an incomparable beauty was true, but Haldir did not think it was the librarian’s long onyx hair that curled softly down the Elf’s back when it flowed freely was what interested Rúmil. Nor could his interest be laid solely at the door of Erestor’s mellow voice; his full, shapely, roseate lips; or his dark grey eyes that sparkled with silver stars. It simply was. He hoped his brother had not fallen for the smaller Elf, for that could end in nothing but heartache.
~~~*~~~
Celeborn and Galadriel stood in Erestor’s room, waiting for their old friend as he made the final preparations for his journey. After packing the last of his few belongings into his saddlebags, Erestor slid a pair of ancient daggers into their holders inside of his boots, donned his cloak, and took his long unused bow and arrow-stocked quiver from their hanging place on the wall. His longbow and daggers had been with him for millennia, providing food when needed, protection, and even as tools for preparing food and shelter. “I may not be a warrior, but I do know how to hunt, and it would be foolish to go on such a journey unprotected from wild animals or other prey,” Erestor said.
“Indeed,” Celeborn said. “All the more since it will be but the two of you. Be most careful, Erestor, for you are dear to us.”
“As you are to me,” Erestor said. With a final embrace from his friends, and one last look around the room that he had called his own for the past one hundred and twenty-nine years, he turned and descended with Celeborn and Galadriel to the clearing below the talon where the tall, golden-haired Galadhel who would accompany Erestor to Imladris was waiting. As they reached the final step of the wide stairs, Erestor quietly groaned. “You picked him, did you not, Galadriel? Why?”
“Not for the reason you think, dear friend,” the Lady replied. “My hearts forebodes me that he must be the one to accompany you. As yet I know not why.”
Erestor raised an eyebrow and looked up at his friend. It was hard enough to avoid the young Galadhel in Lorien. To travel with him for nearly a month would entail such closeness that Erestor feared he would be unable to shield all of his secrets from the younger Elf. Rúmil was no fool. The middle brother of the three trusted wardens of the Golden Wood was a proven warrior, and he had earned his rank through his own merits, not his older brother’s. “What does he know?” Erestor asked quietly.
“Only that Elrond has asked for you and that he is to escort you to Imladris. He was not informed of why. We leave it to you to decide when and how much you wish to tell him,” Galadriel answered. “He will remain in Imladris until we visit in a year’s time, then return home with our party. We shall winter next year in Elrond’s haven and enjoy the time with our daughter and grandsons.”
“Rúmil is a well-trained warrior of sound judgment, and it will do him well to travel and spend time in another realm,” Celeborn said. “He will be a reliable guard for you and provide enjoyable company. He has been told that you know the way to Imladris and that you will be his guide in this.”
“Very well,” Erestor said quietly. “I shall trust in your judgment.”
“You are sure you remember the way, Erestor?” Galadriel asked for the hundredth time.
Erestor smiled slightly and answered patiently, “I remember, Galadriel. The rivers and mountains will not have changed so much since I last made this journey. “I suspect that Imladris will have changed, however. Since I made the decision to go I have found myself looking forward to seeing it and old friends again. Mayhap I am finally healed and it is right that I do this. Time shall tell the truth of it.”
~~~*~~~
The first day as they journeyed through Lothlórien along the western flowing Celebrant River toward the Misty Mountains was largely spent in silence, even during the short break they had taken at midday to rest the horses and eat a small meal. Rúmil watched the librarian as they rode, and since the Elf seemed deep in thought, the Galadhel was loathe to interrupt, although he longed to do so. It was apparent, however, that the librarian was becoming more uncomfortable the longer they travelled, for Erestor had not been one to venture far from his domain of books and was unused to riding.
Erestor shifted in his saddle, trying to relieve the burning in his thighs and the soreness of his backside. He hadn't realized that he was quite so out of shape, but over one hundred years of not being on a horse was taking its toll on him. He had spent most of the day thinking about Rúmil and just how much he would tell the young Galadhel. He finally decided that if Celeborn and Galadriel trusted his safety to the Marchwarden and were leaving him to spend the next year in Imladris, he would trust Rúmil with some of his story – the rest would undoubtedly become known when they reached Imladris anyway. He was not ashamed of his life; he had simply looked for the peace and solitude that came with anonymity. He shifted in his saddle once more, and after silently wishing his mount to the other side of Middle-earth, patted the stallion on his neck and whispered what a good animal he was as an apology.
Seeing a frown of pain when Erestor shifted again and hearing his whisperings to the animal, Rúmil smiled and said, “I will warrant you just wished him to the fires of Mordor and felt an apology was needed?”
Erestor looked up and grinned. “How did you know?”
The Marchwarden shrugged. There was still a good three hours of daylight left, but it was certain that Erestor would be too sore to ride tomorrow if they kept going. “You have not ridden much for many years, Master Erestor,” Rúmil said. “Perhaps we should stop for the night. It will not be good for you to overdo it on the first day and be miserable for the next two because of it. It will take nearly two more days for us to leave the shelter of Lothlórien, if I assume rightly that we will follow the Celebrant until it empties into Mirrormere. If the need is not urgent, perhaps it would be best if we travelled shorter distances through our own woods to give you time to accustom yourself to riding again?”
Erestor sighed in relief. “You speak truly, Rúmil. I am indeed out of condition, and welcome your suggestion. Yes, we will follow the Celebrant to Mirrormere, and thence over the Redhorn Pass.”
“We will not pass through Khazad-dûm as the Lady Galadriel does?”
“If it meets with your approval, I would prefer the mountains to the noise of the dwarves. I have no dislike of them – I would simply prefer the solitude of the mountains after the peace of Lórien,” Erestor replied.
“As you wish, Master Erestor,” Rúmil said agreeably. “I have never seen it and was hoping for a glimpse, but I am content to wait for another time.” Their horses slowed to a gentle walk as he led them closer to the river. “There is a spot ahead nearer the river where the trees will afford good shelter. There are no telain near, so we must rest on the ground, but we are safe until we leave the boundaries of Lórien, and we will both be able to sleep without need for guard until we do.”
They set up camp in a sheltered glade on the banks of the river, and Rúmil made a stew of the fresh fowl he had hunted, along with fresh herbs from the forest, saving their dried meat, fruit and waybread for when they could not find other food. The Galadhel insisted on preparing the meal while Erestor rested, and after they had eaten, they sat close to the fire and watched the sunset. Erestor had remained as quiet as usual, simply looking into the distance a good part of the time.
“Master Erestor, may I ask you a question?” Rúmil finally broke the silence.
“Hmmm?” Erestor looked at the Marchwarden. “Yes, of course you may,” he said. “Forgive me, Rúmil, I have been poor company today, but there was much on my mind that I have needed to think on. What is your question?”
“Why did Lord Elrond ask for you in Imladris? Have they no elves there for his library?”
Erestor hesitated only for a moment, having already decided to tell Rúmil the truth if he asked. “I would imagine that there are many, but I am not going to Imladris to help Elrond with his library. He needs help because the Lady Celebrian is with child, or rather, children. She carries twin sons, and Elrond has asked for me to help him so he can spend time with his new family.”
“But why…I am confused. Why would he want Lord Celeborn’s chief librarian?” Rúmil cocked his head and looked at Erestor keenly. It was not lost on him that Erestor said ‘Elrond’, not ‘Lord Elrond’. “Then you must know Lord Elrond. From before, I mean. Before you came to Lórien. Do you know him well, Master Erestor?”
Erestor nodded and then smiled. “Please call me Erestor, Rúmil. I have never been overly fond of titles, and if we will be journeying together for as many days as we have ahead of it, I should like to have your company as a friend, not merely a guardian. Yes, I have known Elrond since he was but an Elfling. That is why he asks for me.”
“Then you are older than Lord Elrond?” Rúmil asked in amazement.
“Yes,” Erestor said, “although I am not as old as your Lord and Lady or Lord Círdan.” He sighed and lay down on his bedroll, stretching his sore muscles.
Rúmil chewed his bottom lip before finally saying, “May I ask you another question, Master Eres….Erestor?”
“You may,” Erestor replied, knowing that if he and Rúmil were to travel together and protect each other it was necessary for the younger Elf to know more about him and be comfortable with him.
“Am I right that you were not a librarian before coming to Lórien? What made you come here?”
“Yes, you are right, Rúmil, although I have always loved books,” Erestor said softly. “And that was two questions.” He smiled at the Galadhel, and then sobered. “I came to Lórien because I had lost my king and I could not bear to dwell in his palace without him. I came seeking peace and solitude, and the restoring of my soul. And all of that I have found here.”
Rúmil could hear the pain in Erestor’s voice, and he lay down on his own bedroll and looked at the elder Elf. That the king Erestor referred to was Ereinion Gil-galad there was no doubt; the Elf he knew as Lord Celeborn’s chief librarian had arrived in Lórien shortly after the king’s death, and Rúmil wondered what their relationship had been – if they had even been lovers. For some reason that thought disquieted him. “I am sorry,” he said quietly. “Were you close to the high king? You do not have to answer if you do not wish to speak of it.”
Erestor rolled onto his side and looked at Rúmil for long moments. Ignoring the offer to remain silent, he said, “We were closer than friends and I loved him as a brother. For over three thousand years I served him. It tore my heart out when he was killed, Rúmil. When Elrond and Círdan came to Lindon and brought me the news….” His voice trailed off and he remained silent for a time, and then spoke again. “Elrond wanted me to go to Imladris with him; Círdan wanted me to stay in Lindon. But I could do neither, so I came here.”
Rúmil thought of his own brothers and caught a glimpse of the pain Erestor must have suffered. “If I ever lost Haldir or Orophin,” he whispered, “I do not know if I could go on.”
Erestor smiled ruefully. “You would go on, Rúmil. You would go on because there is no other choice. To do anything less would dishonor their memory.”
“But still….” Rúmil shook his head to get the unimaginable horror of such a loss out of his head. After a moment he said, “You are really not as cold or shy as everyone says, are you?”
Erestor stared at Rúmil, shocked, and then laughed heartily. “I have been called many things, but I do not recall ever being called shy or cold before,” he said. “Is that truly how I have appeared to others here?”
Rúmil nodded. “Some thought you so. I thought you merely quiet. You always treated everyone with too much kindness to be cold.”
“Thank you for noticing,” Erestor chuckled.
Rúmil wisely felt he had grilled Erestor with enough questions for one night and said, “Thank you for telling me….well, everything. Rest well tonight, Erestor. We are safe here, and there is naught that will disturb our sleep unless a forest animal pays us an unexpected visit.”
Erestor nodded and once again stretched his aching body before settling down to sleep. With a last whispered, “Good night, Rúmil,” he drifted off into reverie.
~~~*~~~
Early morning saw them again traveling across Lórien, following the Celebrant River, this time in more companionable conversation. Although Erestor’s aches were much improved, he was glad that they would break their journey for an hour or two at mid-day and stop for rest early in the day again.
“Erestor, may I ask you a personal question?” Rúmil’s continuing curiosity about the older Elf had finally gotten the best of him again.
The librarian chuckled. “Yes, you may ask me,” Erestor replied. As far as he was concerned, all of Rúmil’s questions had been personal ones.
“You have never mentioned having a mate. Did you never marry?”
“No, never,” Erestor replied.
“Why?” Rúmil asked. “It is normal for Elves to take a mate, and unusual for us to wait many years to do so. Those that wait long years as Lord Elrond did are rare.”
Erestor shrugged and answered with another question. “You are no longer young, Rúmil, and yet you have never taken a mate either that I have heard of. You are a thousand or so years old? Why did you never take a mate?”
It was Rúmil’s turn to shrug. “I never met anyone that interested me I suppose.”
“The maidens of Lórien are not fair enough for you perhaps?” Erestor asked with a grin.
Rúmil snorted. “The maidens of Lórien are fair indeed, as you well know,” he said. “I would find them most charming, were I interested in maidens.”
Erestor raised his eyebrows. “There was no one among your fellow Galadhrim either then?”
“Not that interested me in that way, anyway,” Rúmil replied. “Brothers-in-arms, fellow wardens, close friends, but never one I sought for a lover. But what of you?”
"Like you, I have yet to meet the one, Rúmil. Perhaps one day.”
That night found them still within the boundaries of Lórien, each lying on his bedroll and watching as the stars twinkled above them like lanterns seen through branches of the trees. “Have you never wished to do anything but to be a Marchwarden, Rúmil?” Erestor asked.
“No, never. I have wished to gain more experience by seeing other realms though,” Rúmil replied. “Perhaps that is why Lord Celeborn allowed me to escort you, since he knew this. What of you? You were librarian here, but you never told me what you did before you came here.”
“I have done many things and been many things, Rúmil. I have been a scribe, a counselor, a teacher – and a librarian,” Erestor said.
“You never wanted to be a warrior?” Rúmil asked.
“When I was a small Elfling it appealed to me. My brother was the head of our family, our father having been killed when I was but an infant, and our mother following him from grief soon after. My brother and his bonded mate raised me, and I loved them as one would love their parents. Both of them were strong warriors and good leaders. My brother said that two warriors were quite enough for one family, and steered me toward a different course when it became apparent that I would be small of stature. I fell in love with books and have never regretted the decision,” Erestor said. “I am skilled enough with bow and arrow to hunt, and I can defend myself from wild animals if need be, but there my skill with weapons ends, I fear. For anything else I rely on my ability to move quickly and quietly – and hide well,” he ended with a chuckle. “There are advantages to being smaller than most sometimes.”
Rúmil again found himself burning with curiosity to know more of Erestor. The elder Elf had proven to be a surprisingly warm and friendly companion, and the Galadhel was learning hourly of Erestor’s kind and gentle spirit. Risking another question, he asked, “And yet those professions have allowed you to travel to the other realms enough to know the way to Imladris well. Did you visit there often?”
“Often enough before the war,” Erestor answered. “The king would send me with his communications to Lórien and Imladris, knowing that I missed Elrond and longed to see him again. I travelled many times between the three realms. It has been many years since I was last there, however, and I expect it will have changed, and even more so under Celebrían’s gentle hands.”
“I have heard that it is very beautiful,” Rúmil mused. “An enchanted, hidden valley, graced with waterfalls. It is said that the very buildings seem to flow from the land.”
Erestor nodded. “Yes, it is a good description. There are many gardens and hidden groves, and the house sprawls through the valley, almost a part of it. The sound of the falls and the rushing river can be very calming to the spirit. It is a place of rest and quietude, and the very floating by of time is soothing and healing.”
“Why did you not wish to go there after…after the war then?” Rúmil asked.
Erestor answered the question, but not in the way that Rúmil expected. “I did not have any memories of Ereinion in Lothlórien.”
Tbc….
Author: Aglarien
Beta: Erviniae
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rúmil/Erestor
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Not mine, with the exception, as always, of the cat. The great Master Tolkien’s estate owns everything else. I promise to return his elves when I’m done playing with them.
Request: I love Erestor. Please don't put two warriors or two scribes together. I'd like a small sweet scribe and a tall strong warrior. I also like librarian/Rúmil. I'd like the story to start with a bit of angst and *maybe* develop into a hurt/comfort story, but that's not a necessity.
Summary: Erestor finally finds an unexpected love that was worth waiting for.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2007 Slashy Santa Fic Swap. Erestor, being the efficient chief counselor that he is, didn’t want to totally cooperate and be an ordinary scribe or librarian, but he is small and awfully sweet, and isn’t a warrior. I hope it pleases. My special thanks to Tena, Phyncke and Chaotic Binky for their help with the plot, and to Chaotic Binky for her invaluable help with injuries, especially head injuries, symptoms, and healing.
For Mi-Chan.
Timeline: 130 T.A.
Worth Waiting For
Haldir stepped quietly into the library of Lothlorien, sighing under his breath when he saw his brother pretending to read, the younger Elf’s gaze fixed instead on the back of the small, black-robed chief librarian. Ignoring Rúmil for the moment, Haldir walked to where the librarian stood on a short stepladder replacing books on shelves and said, “Master Erestor, the Lord and Lady have requested your presence.”
“Hmmm?” Erestor said, turning to look at the Marchwarden. “Now?”
“Aye. They await you in their quarters, as they wish to speak to you privately,” Haldir answered.
Nodding to the Galadhel, Erestor descended the ladder, brushing any trace of dust from his hands as he did so. With one quick run of his hands over his immaculately braided hair, he left the library.
Haldir walked over to where Rúmil lounged in his chair. “Why do you watch him, little brother?” he asked.
“He fascinates me,” Rúmil replied. “For nearly one hundred and thirty years he has lived amongst us, and yet no one really knows much about him. Where is he from? His coloring declares him a Noldo, yet he is shorter and slighter than those we know – Elrond and Glorfindel, for instance. And where does he come from? Sometimes I can catch a glimpse of something in his eyes that I cannot quite understand. The way he speaks is different too. I thought at first it was because he did not hail from the Golden Wood, but now I think it is because he is very old.” What remained unsaid was that Erestor was very beautiful.
“He may be,” Haldir said, sitting down opposite his brother. “What is certain, however, is that he holds the favor of the Lord and Lady. I have witnessed them talking with him in unguarded moments as a close friend – almost a family member,” he whispered. “Do not let your fascination lead to feelings for him. It would not be taken kindly if you thought to toy with him, and he has never failed to spurn any advance made to him. I have always known him to be a gentle, quiet Elf, but you know most Elves here find him all too quiet and cold.”
“I think beneath that coldness there beats a warm heart, brother, and perhaps he is just shy. Sometimes there is pain in his eyes, and I do not think his life before he came here was a peaceful one. But do not fear. When have you ever known me to “toy” with anyone?” Rúmil said. “I leave that to my brothers, and I have no desire to earn the wrath of the Lord and Lady.”
~~~*~~~
Erestor entered Celeborn and Galadriel’s private rooms after knocking on the door and hearing a quiet bid to enter.
“Come and join us, my friend,” Celeborn said, motioning to a chair beside them. Galadriel filled a goblet with wine and handed it to Erestor.
There was no awe in Erestor’s eyes. Although he esteemed the Lord and Lady for their wisdom, justice, and kindness, he valued them greater as old friends. Taking the goblet with a nod of thanks, he settled himself in the chair and took a sip of the wine. “What news calls me from my hallowed library and out from under the gaze of my silent watcher?” he asked.
“News? Why do you think there would be news?” Celeborn asked with a grin. “Can old friends not simply share a cup of wine?”
Erestor snorted. “You did not call me from my work in the middle of the day to take a cup of wine with you, old friend. And sending Haldir as messenger? He obviously brought you a missive, and after reading it, you sent him straight on to me.”
Galadriel laughed softly. “I told you we were wrong to send Haldir instead of one of the servants to carry the message,” she said to Celeborn. “But who is this silent watcher you speak of?” she asked Erestor.
Erestor leaned back in his chair. “Haldir’s brother, Rúmil, has once again taken to sitting in the library and pretending to read, now that he is off duty, but all the while his eyes are fixed on me – unless I look at him, and then they fly in an instant to the floor, the wall, his neglected book – anywhere but me. I would think it amusing, were it not for the fact that he is wasting too much of his time ruminating over me and trying to figure me out.” He sighed. “But come, tell me why you called me here.”
Galadriel sat across from Erestor and clasped her hands on her lap. “We have received a letter from Elrond,” she said. “He has asked for you.”
Erestor’s grey eyes flickered with light. “I do not want this, as dearly as I miss Elrond and Glorfindel. All I wish for is peace, quiet, and solitude.”
“We know, Erestor,” Celeborn said quietly. “And so does Elrond. He understands, and does not ask for you to join him lightly.” Those who knew Erestor’s history were few: other than Celeborn and Galadriel, only Elrond, Círdan and Glorfindel held his secret. Only they knew from whence he had come, and that Erestor had been with Ereinion Gil-galad when they had travelled to the Mouths of Sirion, too late to rescue the Elflings Elros and Elrond. Only they knew that it was Erestor who had stood beside Gil-galad for many centuries and helped to rule his kingdom: his secret confidant, friend, and counselor. Only they knew that it was to Erestor that Gil-galad had entrusted Elrond and Elros for their upbringing when the Elflings had been returned to them. Only they knew how Gil-galad’s death had broken the Elf, and how after the battle Erestor had fled to the haven of Lothlórien to restore his soul.
“I have found healing here, and the quiet under the great trees has restored my peace. I do not wish to leave, even for Elrond,” Erestor said softly.
Galadriel reached out and took Erestor’s hands into her own. “Erestor, Elrond has built a safe haven in Imladris, and you can dwell in peace there. Celebrían is with child, and Elrond seeks your help, for there is no one else he can trust to aid him in the running of his realm. He does not want to choose between the good of Imladris and the good of his family.”
“Celebrían is with child?” Erestor whispered. Why had he not guessed this time would eventually come? “But what of Glorfindel? Can he not assist Elrond?”
“Glorfindel is the captain of Imladris’ security. He cannot help in the way that Elrond needs, Erestor,” Celeborn replied. “But there is another reason that Elrond asks for you – another role he asks you to take.”
“What other role?” Erestor demanded.
“My daughter is carrying twins, Erestor,” Galadriel said softly. “He wishes for his old teacher to instruct his sons. There is no one else to whom he would entrust this task, save himself. Will you not go for their sakes?”
“Twins? Sons?” Erestor was carried back to his days in Lindon. Memories of the happy days with Elros and Elrond that had washed away the recollection of all of the horrors that had gone before filled his mind. He could not deny Elrond. He would go to Imladris. “I will go,” he said quietly. “I will help Elrond and I will teach his sons.”
Over the next few days, Erestor prepared to leave, turning the library over to his assistant and tying up any loose ends. He won the battle with Celeborn and Galadriel to send only one guard with him. Winter would soon be upon them and they would travel faster and surer over the Misty Mountains with only two.
~~~*~~~
Rúmil checked the straps on his horse’s saddle one last time as he stood in the clearing below Erestor’s talon and waited with his brothers, making sure saddlebags and sword sheath were firmly attached. Erestor’s horse and a third for packing supplies and Erestor’s few belongings stood alongside Rúmil’s stallion.
“Better you than me, brother,” Orophin said quietly. “I do not think I would care to escort our colorless librarian even to the border. He is too much of a cold fish for me.”
“Hush!” Rúmil whispered. “You do not know of what you speak, little brother, and if you do not wish to be consigned to the northern fences for the next century, you will not let our Lord or Lady hear you speak of their friend in such a manner.”
Haldir merely stood and waited, wondering just what it was that Rúmil saw in the librarian that fascinated him so, and finding no suitable answer. That Erestor was an incomparable beauty was true, but Haldir did not think it was the librarian’s long onyx hair that curled softly down the Elf’s back when it flowed freely was what interested Rúmil. Nor could his interest be laid solely at the door of Erestor’s mellow voice; his full, shapely, roseate lips; or his dark grey eyes that sparkled with silver stars. It simply was. He hoped his brother had not fallen for the smaller Elf, for that could end in nothing but heartache.
~~~*~~~
Celeborn and Galadriel stood in Erestor’s room, waiting for their old friend as he made the final preparations for his journey. After packing the last of his few belongings into his saddlebags, Erestor slid a pair of ancient daggers into their holders inside of his boots, donned his cloak, and took his long unused bow and arrow-stocked quiver from their hanging place on the wall. His longbow and daggers had been with him for millennia, providing food when needed, protection, and even as tools for preparing food and shelter. “I may not be a warrior, but I do know how to hunt, and it would be foolish to go on such a journey unprotected from wild animals or other prey,” Erestor said.
“Indeed,” Celeborn said. “All the more since it will be but the two of you. Be most careful, Erestor, for you are dear to us.”
“As you are to me,” Erestor said. With a final embrace from his friends, and one last look around the room that he had called his own for the past one hundred and twenty-nine years, he turned and descended with Celeborn and Galadriel to the clearing below the talon where the tall, golden-haired Galadhel who would accompany Erestor to Imladris was waiting. As they reached the final step of the wide stairs, Erestor quietly groaned. “You picked him, did you not, Galadriel? Why?”
“Not for the reason you think, dear friend,” the Lady replied. “My hearts forebodes me that he must be the one to accompany you. As yet I know not why.”
Erestor raised an eyebrow and looked up at his friend. It was hard enough to avoid the young Galadhel in Lorien. To travel with him for nearly a month would entail such closeness that Erestor feared he would be unable to shield all of his secrets from the younger Elf. Rúmil was no fool. The middle brother of the three trusted wardens of the Golden Wood was a proven warrior, and he had earned his rank through his own merits, not his older brother’s. “What does he know?” Erestor asked quietly.
“Only that Elrond has asked for you and that he is to escort you to Imladris. He was not informed of why. We leave it to you to decide when and how much you wish to tell him,” Galadriel answered. “He will remain in Imladris until we visit in a year’s time, then return home with our party. We shall winter next year in Elrond’s haven and enjoy the time with our daughter and grandsons.”
“Rúmil is a well-trained warrior of sound judgment, and it will do him well to travel and spend time in another realm,” Celeborn said. “He will be a reliable guard for you and provide enjoyable company. He has been told that you know the way to Imladris and that you will be his guide in this.”
“Very well,” Erestor said quietly. “I shall trust in your judgment.”
“You are sure you remember the way, Erestor?” Galadriel asked for the hundredth time.
Erestor smiled slightly and answered patiently, “I remember, Galadriel. The rivers and mountains will not have changed so much since I last made this journey. “I suspect that Imladris will have changed, however. Since I made the decision to go I have found myself looking forward to seeing it and old friends again. Mayhap I am finally healed and it is right that I do this. Time shall tell the truth of it.”
~~~*~~~
The first day as they journeyed through Lothlórien along the western flowing Celebrant River toward the Misty Mountains was largely spent in silence, even during the short break they had taken at midday to rest the horses and eat a small meal. Rúmil watched the librarian as they rode, and since the Elf seemed deep in thought, the Galadhel was loathe to interrupt, although he longed to do so. It was apparent, however, that the librarian was becoming more uncomfortable the longer they travelled, for Erestor had not been one to venture far from his domain of books and was unused to riding.
Erestor shifted in his saddle, trying to relieve the burning in his thighs and the soreness of his backside. He hadn't realized that he was quite so out of shape, but over one hundred years of not being on a horse was taking its toll on him. He had spent most of the day thinking about Rúmil and just how much he would tell the young Galadhel. He finally decided that if Celeborn and Galadriel trusted his safety to the Marchwarden and were leaving him to spend the next year in Imladris, he would trust Rúmil with some of his story – the rest would undoubtedly become known when they reached Imladris anyway. He was not ashamed of his life; he had simply looked for the peace and solitude that came with anonymity. He shifted in his saddle once more, and after silently wishing his mount to the other side of Middle-earth, patted the stallion on his neck and whispered what a good animal he was as an apology.
Seeing a frown of pain when Erestor shifted again and hearing his whisperings to the animal, Rúmil smiled and said, “I will warrant you just wished him to the fires of Mordor and felt an apology was needed?”
Erestor looked up and grinned. “How did you know?”
The Marchwarden shrugged. There was still a good three hours of daylight left, but it was certain that Erestor would be too sore to ride tomorrow if they kept going. “You have not ridden much for many years, Master Erestor,” Rúmil said. “Perhaps we should stop for the night. It will not be good for you to overdo it on the first day and be miserable for the next two because of it. It will take nearly two more days for us to leave the shelter of Lothlórien, if I assume rightly that we will follow the Celebrant until it empties into Mirrormere. If the need is not urgent, perhaps it would be best if we travelled shorter distances through our own woods to give you time to accustom yourself to riding again?”
Erestor sighed in relief. “You speak truly, Rúmil. I am indeed out of condition, and welcome your suggestion. Yes, we will follow the Celebrant to Mirrormere, and thence over the Redhorn Pass.”
“We will not pass through Khazad-dûm as the Lady Galadriel does?”
“If it meets with your approval, I would prefer the mountains to the noise of the dwarves. I have no dislike of them – I would simply prefer the solitude of the mountains after the peace of Lórien,” Erestor replied.
“As you wish, Master Erestor,” Rúmil said agreeably. “I have never seen it and was hoping for a glimpse, but I am content to wait for another time.” Their horses slowed to a gentle walk as he led them closer to the river. “There is a spot ahead nearer the river where the trees will afford good shelter. There are no telain near, so we must rest on the ground, but we are safe until we leave the boundaries of Lórien, and we will both be able to sleep without need for guard until we do.”
They set up camp in a sheltered glade on the banks of the river, and Rúmil made a stew of the fresh fowl he had hunted, along with fresh herbs from the forest, saving their dried meat, fruit and waybread for when they could not find other food. The Galadhel insisted on preparing the meal while Erestor rested, and after they had eaten, they sat close to the fire and watched the sunset. Erestor had remained as quiet as usual, simply looking into the distance a good part of the time.
“Master Erestor, may I ask you a question?” Rúmil finally broke the silence.
“Hmmm?” Erestor looked at the Marchwarden. “Yes, of course you may,” he said. “Forgive me, Rúmil, I have been poor company today, but there was much on my mind that I have needed to think on. What is your question?”
“Why did Lord Elrond ask for you in Imladris? Have they no elves there for his library?”
Erestor hesitated only for a moment, having already decided to tell Rúmil the truth if he asked. “I would imagine that there are many, but I am not going to Imladris to help Elrond with his library. He needs help because the Lady Celebrian is with child, or rather, children. She carries twin sons, and Elrond has asked for me to help him so he can spend time with his new family.”
“But why…I am confused. Why would he want Lord Celeborn’s chief librarian?” Rúmil cocked his head and looked at Erestor keenly. It was not lost on him that Erestor said ‘Elrond’, not ‘Lord Elrond’. “Then you must know Lord Elrond. From before, I mean. Before you came to Lórien. Do you know him well, Master Erestor?”
Erestor nodded and then smiled. “Please call me Erestor, Rúmil. I have never been overly fond of titles, and if we will be journeying together for as many days as we have ahead of it, I should like to have your company as a friend, not merely a guardian. Yes, I have known Elrond since he was but an Elfling. That is why he asks for me.”
“Then you are older than Lord Elrond?” Rúmil asked in amazement.
“Yes,” Erestor said, “although I am not as old as your Lord and Lady or Lord Círdan.” He sighed and lay down on his bedroll, stretching his sore muscles.
Rúmil chewed his bottom lip before finally saying, “May I ask you another question, Master Eres….Erestor?”
“You may,” Erestor replied, knowing that if he and Rúmil were to travel together and protect each other it was necessary for the younger Elf to know more about him and be comfortable with him.
“Am I right that you were not a librarian before coming to Lórien? What made you come here?”
“Yes, you are right, Rúmil, although I have always loved books,” Erestor said softly. “And that was two questions.” He smiled at the Galadhel, and then sobered. “I came to Lórien because I had lost my king and I could not bear to dwell in his palace without him. I came seeking peace and solitude, and the restoring of my soul. And all of that I have found here.”
Rúmil could hear the pain in Erestor’s voice, and he lay down on his own bedroll and looked at the elder Elf. That the king Erestor referred to was Ereinion Gil-galad there was no doubt; the Elf he knew as Lord Celeborn’s chief librarian had arrived in Lórien shortly after the king’s death, and Rúmil wondered what their relationship had been – if they had even been lovers. For some reason that thought disquieted him. “I am sorry,” he said quietly. “Were you close to the high king? You do not have to answer if you do not wish to speak of it.”
Erestor rolled onto his side and looked at Rúmil for long moments. Ignoring the offer to remain silent, he said, “We were closer than friends and I loved him as a brother. For over three thousand years I served him. It tore my heart out when he was killed, Rúmil. When Elrond and Círdan came to Lindon and brought me the news….” His voice trailed off and he remained silent for a time, and then spoke again. “Elrond wanted me to go to Imladris with him; Círdan wanted me to stay in Lindon. But I could do neither, so I came here.”
Rúmil thought of his own brothers and caught a glimpse of the pain Erestor must have suffered. “If I ever lost Haldir or Orophin,” he whispered, “I do not know if I could go on.”
Erestor smiled ruefully. “You would go on, Rúmil. You would go on because there is no other choice. To do anything less would dishonor their memory.”
“But still….” Rúmil shook his head to get the unimaginable horror of such a loss out of his head. After a moment he said, “You are really not as cold or shy as everyone says, are you?”
Erestor stared at Rúmil, shocked, and then laughed heartily. “I have been called many things, but I do not recall ever being called shy or cold before,” he said. “Is that truly how I have appeared to others here?”
Rúmil nodded. “Some thought you so. I thought you merely quiet. You always treated everyone with too much kindness to be cold.”
“Thank you for noticing,” Erestor chuckled.
Rúmil wisely felt he had grilled Erestor with enough questions for one night and said, “Thank you for telling me….well, everything. Rest well tonight, Erestor. We are safe here, and there is naught that will disturb our sleep unless a forest animal pays us an unexpected visit.”
Erestor nodded and once again stretched his aching body before settling down to sleep. With a last whispered, “Good night, Rúmil,” he drifted off into reverie.
~~~*~~~
Early morning saw them again traveling across Lórien, following the Celebrant River, this time in more companionable conversation. Although Erestor’s aches were much improved, he was glad that they would break their journey for an hour or two at mid-day and stop for rest early in the day again.
“Erestor, may I ask you a personal question?” Rúmil’s continuing curiosity about the older Elf had finally gotten the best of him again.
The librarian chuckled. “Yes, you may ask me,” Erestor replied. As far as he was concerned, all of Rúmil’s questions had been personal ones.
“You have never mentioned having a mate. Did you never marry?”
“No, never,” Erestor replied.
“Why?” Rúmil asked. “It is normal for Elves to take a mate, and unusual for us to wait many years to do so. Those that wait long years as Lord Elrond did are rare.”
Erestor shrugged and answered with another question. “You are no longer young, Rúmil, and yet you have never taken a mate either that I have heard of. You are a thousand or so years old? Why did you never take a mate?”
It was Rúmil’s turn to shrug. “I never met anyone that interested me I suppose.”
“The maidens of Lórien are not fair enough for you perhaps?” Erestor asked with a grin.
Rúmil snorted. “The maidens of Lórien are fair indeed, as you well know,” he said. “I would find them most charming, were I interested in maidens.”
Erestor raised his eyebrows. “There was no one among your fellow Galadhrim either then?”
“Not that interested me in that way, anyway,” Rúmil replied. “Brothers-in-arms, fellow wardens, close friends, but never one I sought for a lover. But what of you?”
"Like you, I have yet to meet the one, Rúmil. Perhaps one day.”
That night found them still within the boundaries of Lórien, each lying on his bedroll and watching as the stars twinkled above them like lanterns seen through branches of the trees. “Have you never wished to do anything but to be a Marchwarden, Rúmil?” Erestor asked.
“No, never. I have wished to gain more experience by seeing other realms though,” Rúmil replied. “Perhaps that is why Lord Celeborn allowed me to escort you, since he knew this. What of you? You were librarian here, but you never told me what you did before you came here.”
“I have done many things and been many things, Rúmil. I have been a scribe, a counselor, a teacher – and a librarian,” Erestor said.
“You never wanted to be a warrior?” Rúmil asked.
“When I was a small Elfling it appealed to me. My brother was the head of our family, our father having been killed when I was but an infant, and our mother following him from grief soon after. My brother and his bonded mate raised me, and I loved them as one would love their parents. Both of them were strong warriors and good leaders. My brother said that two warriors were quite enough for one family, and steered me toward a different course when it became apparent that I would be small of stature. I fell in love with books and have never regretted the decision,” Erestor said. “I am skilled enough with bow and arrow to hunt, and I can defend myself from wild animals if need be, but there my skill with weapons ends, I fear. For anything else I rely on my ability to move quickly and quietly – and hide well,” he ended with a chuckle. “There are advantages to being smaller than most sometimes.”
Rúmil again found himself burning with curiosity to know more of Erestor. The elder Elf had proven to be a surprisingly warm and friendly companion, and the Galadhel was learning hourly of Erestor’s kind and gentle spirit. Risking another question, he asked, “And yet those professions have allowed you to travel to the other realms enough to know the way to Imladris well. Did you visit there often?”
“Often enough before the war,” Erestor answered. “The king would send me with his communications to Lórien and Imladris, knowing that I missed Elrond and longed to see him again. I travelled many times between the three realms. It has been many years since I was last there, however, and I expect it will have changed, and even more so under Celebrían’s gentle hands.”
“I have heard that it is very beautiful,” Rúmil mused. “An enchanted, hidden valley, graced with waterfalls. It is said that the very buildings seem to flow from the land.”
Erestor nodded. “Yes, it is a good description. There are many gardens and hidden groves, and the house sprawls through the valley, almost a part of it. The sound of the falls and the rushing river can be very calming to the spirit. It is a place of rest and quietude, and the very floating by of time is soothing and healing.”
“Why did you not wish to go there after…after the war then?” Rúmil asked.
Erestor answered the question, but not in the way that Rúmil expected. “I did not have any memories of Ereinion in Lothlórien.”
Tbc….
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}