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Epilogue

There was a hesitant knock upon the door of Finarfin’s private library, where the King was hosting a select group of male guests.  All spoke in Sindarin since there were no other Noldor present except for Finarfin and two of his sons.  When called to enter, a clerk came in carrying a round log of what turned out to be the first official maps of the New Realms, commissioned on behalf of his fellow rulers by Elrond.  The gathered elf-lords, princes, and kings eagerly set aside the cups they had just raised in a toast.  As they arranged themselves with grinning enthusiasm around the cleared table, Elladan and Elrohir unbound and unwound the sheaf; the sheets so new that weights were not needed to stay them from rolling up again.

“So, Finarfin, this is real reason why you invited us to slip away from the ladies.  Not to taste your new wine,” joked Thranduil, who had not been kind when asked about the vintage.  Everyone laughed for they were in a celebratory mood.  This evening was proclaimed by royal decree to be a feast in recognition of the success of the great endeavor undertaken by the former Elves of Ennor.  Although when they were first assembled in this room, there were some worried glances as to why the King of the Noldor was calling them together beforehand.

“Elrond mentioned that they would be delivered this evening and I thought you all deserved the first viewing,” replied the smiling king.  “Thranduil has given us his opinion of the drink.  What do you think of the maps, Celeborn?”  He gestured for his son-in-law to examine the stack.

“Excellent,” was Celeborn’s judgment as he leafed through, assisted by Legolas holding the pealed-back sheets.  The silver-haired prince was visibly impressed at the quality of work.  “One of your staff?” he asked his own son-in-law.

“No, someone of my acquaintance,” was the pleased reply.  Celeborn’s considerable cartographer skills made his assessment high praise and Elrond took pride in his choice of map-maker.  He swiftly finished reading the note that had accompanied the maps explaining how incongruities in some of the elevations supplied were resolved.  The Lord’s compliment would be included in his return note to the young loremaster.

Glorfindel was impressed as well and moved around to another the side of the table so he might more easily read the maker’s signature where it would be traditionally tucked into the southeast corner of the framing border of each map.

However at that very moment, there was another – sharper – knock on the door.  It swept open and a flurry of elegant ellith flew in with much laughter and admonitions.  The ladies had come to claim their lords and take them away to dine and dance.

“Aha!  You are found out!” cried Amarië, hurriedly joining her husband.  Finrod took her hand and kissed it.  Most others in her flock were kissed upon the mouth in greeting, even Galadriel.  However, she no longer blushed at that Úmanyar custom as she was once prone to do.

“Our sharp-eyed granddaughter spied your stealthy messenger and knew, if you were allowed to begin perusing nórelanni, we would be eating alone,” said Eärwen to her husband.  She turned to address the rest of the néri.  “You will not be reading them tonight, héruvi-nya!” the Queen declared with unassailable social authority.

With affectionate bribery and cloaked threats, wives and lovers and daughters led all but Glorfindel off to the waiting festivities.

Left alone, the elf-lord sighed; his usual smile at the happiness of his friends failing to bloom.  Not because no one was escorting him to the hall, but because he simply did not want to be in Tirion right now.  Life was easier in the west; keeping busy with work and away from the gawking popularity that kept him penned within propriety.  Afraid of the damage to his Amillë’s standing if he went to the guesthouse to see her.  It was barely comforting to know that he would some day be able to visit her again, when she was no longer under the close scrutiny of her superintendent.  Tomorrow, he would write her a letter, even though it could not be sent for a long time.  And that would have to suffice – as it had since his return to Aman.

Turning the top map so that the proper edge was conveniently before him, he looked closely for the name that should be hidden within the stylized Lindarin-knot border.  It was subtly done and not easy to read.

Rostaro, he finally discerned.

Without warning, Celebrían slammed her hand down on the map right under his nose.  Glorfindel stood up straight, feigning confused innocence about her having to come back for him.  With a put-out mien, she grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the table.  She let go, circled about his back, and gamely proceeded in trying to push him out the door; both of them snickering like eflings, as he leaned back in token resistance.

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

amillë/amil/amm‎ë – mater/mother/mom Quenya

nórelanni – maps – land(nóre) cloth(lannë) Quenya

néri – male elves Quenya (plural of nér)

héruvi-nya – ‘my lords’ Quenya

ellith – female elves (plural of elleth)

Ulbanís and Rostaro are OCs from another fanfic: Beech Leaves.