Under the Ragged Thorn by elfscribe

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Tidings

Chapter summary: Erestor returns after an extended absence, with disquieting news for Gil-galad and Elrond.

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Elrond sat on an upholstered chair next to a crackling fire, cradling a goblet of mulled red wine in his hand. His whole body still tingled delightfully from the exercise his king had put him through that afternoon. The reasons they had resisted the relationship for so many years, back when the king had hesitated bedding one of his retinue, now seemed trivial. After the past year, Elrond couldn’t imagine life without enjoying this intimacy with him. Gil-galad was dressed for the reception, his stunning silver hair pulled away from his face by a curved diadem sprinkled with rubies. Elrond remembered the feel of that hair gently brushing his thighs and once again heat rose. He shifted, a bit uncomfortably, and Gil winked at him. Almost as if he knew his thoughts.

“Shouldn’t we be heading for the reception?” Elrond asked. “We can talk to Erestor afterwards.”

“I want to prepare him and I want you to watch his reaction to the news. You are ever so much more attuned to emotions than I am,” Gil said.

“Nonsense, Gil,” Elrond said. “I never knew anyone who could read people as well as you.”

“Well, I’ve come to rely on your . . . foresight,” Gil said. He set a hand on Elrond’s arm. “As well you know, we exist in uncertain times.”

The door to the drawing room opened and a servant named Bercalion entered, followed by Erestor, still wearing his traveling clothes: a cloak of a nondescript grey over chainmail, the hood covering his head.

“Envoy Erestor,” Bercalion announced.

“Thank you, Bercalion,” Gil replied. The servant bowed and departed. “Erestor,” the king said heartily, “Tis good to see you. We have missed you at court, having heard little from you for nigh on a month now.”

With a silky motion, Erestor drew back the hood. He'd made his sea-grey eyes more vivid by outlining them with black kohl. His dark hair was braided away from his face and tucked into his tunic. He bowed.

“No need for protocol,” Gil said. “Come warm yourself by the fire.” He patted the empty chair opposite him.

Erestor approached and floated down onto the chair, then eyed the king expectantly.

Elrond was always struck by the cat-like grace with which Erestor moved. It almost made him want to reach over and stroke his ears. Using a cloth to pick up the ceramic pitcher warming on the hob near the fire, Elrond poured a goblet full of wine and handed it to him.

The envoy took a sip. “Ah. Thank you. This is most welcome. The weather was remarkably inhospitable on the way home.”

“Spring has been late in coming this year,” Gil-galad observed.

“Indeed,” said Erestor. “I hope that doesn’t portend anything unnatural. It’s been unusually cold and rainy so far.”

Elrond moved his chair so that they were seated in a triangle pattern, facing one another. “Likely it portends an exceptional display of wildflowers in another month or so. We are very glad to have you back in the household. There were no reports for too long. We were worried. The both of us.” He looked at Gil, who nodded.

Erestor took another pull at his wine. “Forgive me, my king, but quite often I was in situations where a message could have gone astray, and my investigation took me down the Gwathló all the way to Vinyalondë on the coast and thence back by boat.”

Gil-galad looked grave. “Next time I’ll send you with some ravens and some armed companions. Elrond is correct, I was very concerned . . . Well, what do you have to report?”

“As we suspected, things are not well in Tharbad and environs,” Erestor said. “The local men are desperately disenchanted with the Númenórean occupation there. With good reason, I might add.”

Gil-galad frowned. “Is it worse than it was? I have not been there in many a year.”

“It is,” Erestor said. “The men who depend on the woods for hunting are not happy with the Dúnedain’s logging forays, which are denuding the slopes, and the resulting run-off of soil is clogging the river estuaries and disturbing the fisheries, so the fisherfolk in the region are affected as well. I myself was shocked when I saw the extent of the logging in the area. It looks vastly different than we’ve known it.” *

Gil stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Tragic to hear and not at all what we were promised. I’m afraid it’s typical of the short-lived Edain not to take care of their resources. But I am reluctant to interfere. We did make an alliance with Tar-Aldarion.”

“That was well nigh seven hundred years ago,” Erestor pointed out. “Since then, things have changed. The Númenóreans have become greedy, exploiting the labor of the men in the region and destroying their lands. I’m afraid the locals have a right to be angry. In addition,” he lowered his voice, “Sire, I have reason to believe that there are powers working to exploit their dissatisfaction. There are tales of a darkness coming from the south. If allowed to go unchecked, the conflict could well expand. It may reach even Lindon.”

“What powers?” Elrond asked.

“I do not yet know,” Erestor said. He sat back in the chair. “But, there is a whisper from Ost-in-Edhil that the craftsman calling himself Annatar, whom you refused entrance to Lindon some years ago, has gone missing.”

“Missing?” Gil-galad said. “He’s gone off somewhere? Surely Celebrimbor knows. They were working closely together. Perhaps too closely.”

Erestor glowered. “Something dark is at work, I feel it in my gut. As much as I’m happy to be home, I believe I should not tarry too long here, but take a small company to investigate further. With your leave, my king.”

There was a knock on the door and Bercalion stuck in his head. “Your Lordship, your guests are asking for you. What may I tell them?”

“Tell them I shall be with them anon,” Gil-galad said. The door clicked shut. Gil studied his intelligencer. “Is the danger imminent, do you think?”

Erestor shook his head. “I don’t think so, but I do not yet have a full reading of the situation. I need to seek out more informants, perhaps go as far as Ost-in-Edhil and thence to Hadhodrond.”

Gil looked at Elrond, then nodded. “I thank you for your sterling service, Erestor. I shall expect a full report detailing the sources of your suspicions before granting you leave to depart once more. In the meantime, guests have arrived, and there is a sumptuous banquet prepared to which you are invited. I suspect it will be welcome after weeks in the field?”

“Indeed, it will,” Erestor said.

“Another issue has arisen,” Gil-galad said, “and I should like your advice.”

“Let me guess.” Erestor smiled grimly. “Upon arrival this morning at the south haven, I heard a strange rumor of a mariner disembarking several days ago. I spoke to Círdan about it. He says he is come from Balannor.”

“You have heard correctly,” Gil said. “And no doubt he gave you his name as well.”

Erestor nodded. “A name that cannot possibly be valid, my lord. Since when have we heard of re-embodied elves returning to Ennor?”

Gil-galad shifted in his chair and took a sip from his goblet. “Círdan has personal acquaintance with our Balrog slayer and believes this emissary to be him, and I have no reason to doubt his wisdom. I believe the man in question is known to you as well. He claims to have been sent to Middle-earth by the Belain themselves, but he has not disclosed a reason for it. Believe me, I asked when he arrived several days ago, but he seemed . . . confused. That is the other reason I sent for you today. I wish you to ascertain the truth of his claims and discover the reason behind his sudden arrival. And to learn if there’s a connection to the dark rumors you have heard.”

Erestor seemed to have turned paler than was his wont. His black-rimmed eyes glittered like frost. “If so, my lord, then things are perhaps darker than I had feared. If you please, I can recommend a few of my associates who might be better suited to this task.”

“Why someone else?” Elrond said. “You must know him, don’t you? That is why the king felt you were ideal to determine if he is, in fact, who he claims to be. I would have thought you’d be overjoyed to see someone you knew in Gondolin after all these years. And after . . . ”

Erestor’s back stiffened. “I do not have happy memories of that time. However, my Lord King, if you so order, I shall endeavor to do as you ask.”

“I do order it,” Gil-galad said. But he had cocked his head like a dog listening for a mouse in a cupboard. He looked puzzled.

Erestor set his cup on the table. “Then, perhaps I should change into party clothes, as I am not fit at the moment for your sparkling company.”

Gil leaned forward. “As you sit here in your travel-stained garb, you are more fit for my court than many who come dressed in silks as supplicants for my favor. I owe you many times over for your timely intelligence on difficult matters. Perhaps, for once, this evening, you could cast off your burdens and enjoy yourself?”

“Perhaps, my king,” Erestor said. “Although the trials of the road still weigh heavily upon me. Where are you gathering?”

“In the western hall,” Gil-galad said.

Erestor inclined his head, then rose. “Until then,” he said. He left the room. The door banged behind him, perhaps harder than necessary.

Elrond let out a breath. “Well, now. That was unexpected.”

“For us Noldor, the past is a dark country and our friend has lived much longer than either of us, through fire and sorrow,” Gil-galad said.

“I lived through that as well,” Elrond said quietly. “As did everyone associated with us.”

“I do not forget,” Gil replied. “Well, what is your reading of our talented spy’s reaction?”

Elrond smiled. “It’s puzzling. Suspicion and great sorrow, as can be expected. But there is more, and it weighs upon him. I shall keep an eye on both him and Glorfindel this evening to see what more I can learn.”

“Do that,” Gil-galad said.

“I am more concerned about Erestor’s report about Tharbad. That way lies difficulty for us.” Elrond’s eyes rested on the elaborately carved lintel above the door.

“Agreed. Keeping conflicting interests in balance has ever been an acrobatic challenge. But time to worry about those issues later. For tonight, I hear we have a number of wonderful musicians, and delicacies grown in the new hot house. Strawberries, Elrond!”

“Marvelous to have them so early.” Elrond smiled. “Speaking of sweets, I hear a handful of your subjects have arrived with daughters in tow, looking for a royal match.”

“Along with a few sons,” Gil-galad laughed. “Rumors being what they are. Lots of elves to flirt with. And no doubt some are angling for you as well, my love.” He nuzzled Elrond’s shoulder.

Elrond felt the familiar worry creeping into his gut. “As we’ve discussed, Gil, it would be wise for you to marry and sire an heir, preferably several, considering the history of Noldorin kings. You shouldn’t let our, um, association get in the way of your legacy.”

Gil-galad cupped Elrond’s cheek in his hand, bent forward and kissed his lips tenderly. “It’s always politics, is it not? As long as there is hope for an alliance among all these families, it keeps the strife to a minimum. Once I choose, I’ve offended others. In any event, I find flirting a welcome diversion from the concerns of governance, don’t you.”

“On occasion,” Elrond smiled. “Don’t you think Erestor is dead sexy?”

“Hmmm,” Gil-galad said, as his hand wandered up Elrond’s thigh. “Indeed, he’s well-favored, with charisma to match, but a mite prickly to try to woo, if you ask me.”

“You know, I’ve not heard that he beds anyone.”

“He has on occasion, so I understand,” Gil replied. “But he’s discreet and it’s never often. I’ve wondered why.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Elrond smiled.

“Oh, I have plenty,” Gil said, as his wandering hand found Elrond’s cock through his robe. “But they all have to do with you. However, it seems we have guests. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

“You fox, I can’t appear in such a state!” Elrond exclaimed, brushing Gil’s hand aside. “You’ll have to give me a moment here.”

 

 

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Chapter End Notes

Balannor (S) Land of the Valar, Valinor (Q)
Belain (S) - Valar (Q)
Bercalion (S) - Bright pledge
Hadhodrond (S) - Khazad-dûm
*Note. The Númenóreans devastating the area around Tharbad for timber is canon.
~J.R.R. Tolkien, Christopher Tolkien (ed.), Unfinished Tales of Númenor and Middle-earth, "The History of Galadriel and Celeborn" Ballantine Books, NY. 1988. p. 275.