By Stars' Light by Erfan Starled

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Chapter 13

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*** 105 Years of the Sun ***

 

Ensconced in Nargothrond after the journey south, with the King and a glass of wine, Glorfindel said with a glint of humour, “That was a novel experience, being arrested by a minstrel…”

 

“I’m glad you saw him. But yes, I’ve set out a full watch on the Faroth and the Plains since you came down before. We’re still building towers though,” he added as an afterthought.

 

“They chose a good site at the ford to waylay me,” approved Glorfindel, judiciously. “I could see three archers in the rocks above – I presume there were more?”

 

Finrod nodded.

 

“I couldn’t have got away from them if I’d wanted to, not with those rocks cutting me off to the west. Calyaro was friendly, though he had that smile, you know the one that says, ‘Glad to see you but mustn’t show it too much, you're Lord Glorfindel,’ – you know that one? But I still don’t think I deserved to be arrested just for coming to see you…”

 

Finrod grinned at his laughing cousin. “You weren’t arrested and you know it. They have orders to bring in anyone who approaches. Stop complaining about what you know perfectly well they did with all courtesy and tell me how long you can stay?”

 

“Turgon wants me back in a month. I should tell you Galadriel wants to join us here – she’s talking about bringing Celeborn to visit before I go north.”

 

Finrod grinned. “She wants us to like him. I was surprised by how serious she was over him. I could never imagine her settling down with anyone before, but Celeborn…”

 

“You approve?”

 

“Of course I approve! It’s not as though there could be any possible objection.”

 

“Until she met him, I thought she’d live with you, to be honest.”

 

“She made it clear from the first that she wanted to stay in Doriath. It’s not just Celeborn.”

 

“Melian.”

 

“Melian,” agreed Finrod. They fell silent a moment, neither feeling qualified for opinions on deeper mysteries not open to them.

 

Glorfindel returned to the anomaly of his arrival. “Why do you set a minstrel among your watch? Are you so short of archers?” Finrod felt his face give him away on two counts. Calyaro’s service had not been his idea – or his desire.

 

“Finrod?”

 

“It is what he wants. It has been the only thing he asked me for.”

 

“You and Calyaro – are you saying you got together? Ha! I knew I was right about that…”

 

Finrod smiled ruefully and shrugged.

 

“Well. Well – I am pleased for you. You know that?”

 

“Of course. And… thank you.”

 

“And the succession?”

 

“I’m not sure that will matter – if this kingdom is destined not to last…” Finrod said it quietly, as if with foreknowledge Glorfindel lacked. But he smiled then. “It shall serve its purpose for a time, however and bring security to Beleriand while it stands, be the time long or short. Already we have extended our protection westward. Círdan is most pleased, needless to say.”

 

He held up an unopened bottle and gave it to Glorfindel to open. “You must come to Eglarest – you haven’t been there lately? He and I are talking of rebuilding there and at Brithombar. I miss boats and ships. He’s very good. Ocean-going vessels to deal with the worst storms… It’s a great place. Another world. We could take you sailing.”

 

Glorfindel sat back and drank his wine, refilled his cup. “We could do that, but for now – tell me more about Calyaro.”

 

“Calyaro?” Glorfindel just looked at him. Finrod laughed. “There is not much to tell. He still plays, as before, but he won’t take it up again full time. He’ll teach anyone his songs if they ask, but as soon as he discharged his last task here,” he gestured to the vault above them, indicating the fortress complex, “he asked my leave to apply to join the border watch.”

 

“And you agreed?”

 

“I laughed and said a harper had no place guarding Taleth Dirnen.” The plain guarded the easiest route from the north, geographically if not militarily, with Minas Tirith standing firm sentry on the Sirion and Orodreth competent in his stead while Finrod was here.

 

“What then?”

 

“He took to practicing his weaponry, and asked me again a year later.” Glorfindel waited. Finrod turned his cup in his hands, old, old habit. “He challenged me to an archery contest when he saw I would say no. If he won, I was to let him go.”

 

“He did not win against you.” It was not a question. Glorfindel stated it as fact. Finrod’s skill with a bow had rivalled Aredhel’s. Few could beat either of them, though it was Aredhel who took most pleasure in it.

 

“I was winning. I had one more shot. I felt – satisfied that I would get my way. And then I saw him realise he would lose…” Calyaro was across the room and glanced over, faintly questioning. His eyes rested on Finrod briefly and then he turned back to his companions, but the warmth in them was unmistakeable and Finrod smiled back, lifting his cup slightly toward him. This relationship was no secret.

 

He looked back at Glorfindel. “I shot wide. As soon as he applied he was accepted. He’s done well.”

 

“You’ll have to give him another name. Let the old Calyaro go. You’re more than ready for the future.”

 

Finrod looked in his cup, swilled the light reflected in the rippled surface from the candle sconce behind them. “Yes,” he said. And more softly, “Yes, I am. Whatever comes, I am ready for it.”

 

A last weight fell away from him as he realized Aman no longer held him in the grip of regret, grief or even anger. Tirion had been as beautiful as the rape of Alqualondë was cruel, but neither city were writ in his future. He felt a great gratitude to his cousin.

 

“Glorfindel, Turgon is building, too, is he not?”

 

Glorfindel sat very still. He said nothing.

 

Finrod had come to be sure after Turgon’s own travels that Lord Ulmo’s message had been offered to both of them. He had recognized the signs without Turgon having to tell him anything. Nor had he asked, knowing how he had felt himself about Nargothrond. The secrecy with which Turgon was going about his project told Finrod that what they built would not be open to visitors when it was done. He knew also that Elenwë’s death had left Glorfindel determined to protect Idril. He would not leave Turgon now.

 

“When he goes, are you going with him?”

 

A glance. A slow, single nod. They sat in silence for a little, before Finrod sighed and shifted, reaching for the wine.

 

“Will you come and say good-bye, before you go?”

 

“Ah, Finrod…” Glorfindel took a long, long drink, and opened another bottle. “I think, tonight, we should get drunk under the stars, my friend.” For a moment, Finrod thought he had come to say goodbye already and unbidden tears rose – which Glorfindel saw.

 

“Not yet. It won’t be yet. And I will come and say good-bye. I’m going for Idril’s sake, not just Turgon’s, though I think he needs someone.”

 

Finrod knew. He laid a hand briefly on Glorfindel’s arm. “Yes. But I’m glad it’s not yet.” He released a breath and let the moment pass. “We’ll need some more bottles.”

 

Glorfindel grinned and tipped his own prize toward his host. “That’s my lad. It will save me coming back down when we’ve finished this one.”

 

On the Narog’s banks, Glorfindel returned to discussing the matter of a new name for Calyaro. Finally, he pronounced, “Edrahil,” and seemed satisfied.

 

“I like the sound of that.”

 

“It means warden of the marches, or walker of the border. In Sindarin. With a bit of fiddling, at least. It’s certainly an awkward language compared to Quenya.” And then, “Shouldn’t you go and fetch him, and we can tell him? Break it in with a drink?”

 

The offer felt like a blessing on the relationship, and Finrod smiled and went to send someone with the invitation.

 

***

 

Finrod half-woke in the pitch dark of the unlit chamber. He always missed the stars down here. The arm that lay across him had moved. Edrahil was rising. They were used to keeping different hours and irregular times. He could subside into sleep again if he wanted, but he chose to blink himself awake.

 

Footsteps padded into the corridor to collect a light from the candle kept alight there. The candle-flame bobbed back into the room. Lazily, Finrod watched Edrahil dress for his return to duty in Taleth Dirnen. A smile and a kiss and he was gone but in time he would be back. For Finrod, morning would come soon enough; he went back to sleep to catch what dreams the night still offered.

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Chapter End Notes

 

Author’s Note: Names

Edrahil – S. Border Follower, March Warden [(possible meaning) Robert Ireland, A Tolkien Dictionary]