Chapter 2. They led their lives free of care.

In which Oropher bites his tongue repeatedly, Glorfindel redresses a tense moment or two and Elrond and Erestor are playing games -yet again.

 “What were you doing here, anyway?”  

“I was going back to the main building when the song caught my attention…”  

“This is not the way to the main building, Oropher, had I not found you…”  

“A gardener showed me this short cut…”  

“A gardener?”  

“Well, I do not know who he was, actually. He was lighting torches…”  

“And you trusted him?”  

“Idhren…” Oropher drew in a deep breath and tried to regain control of the hissed conversation. The fact that his Silvan subjects were even more distrustful of strangers than himself had seemed a good thing to him…until that moment. He was about to remind his overzealous guard that they were in Gil-galad’s stronghold and safe haven after all, but then remembered the less than praising remarks that he had made about the Noldorin King on their trip there.  

“Yes?”  

“Forget it. Where is Bronadel, then?”  

“I wish I knew. He went to the courtyard, saying that he wanted to talk with the trees there…and disappeared.  I fear he may be… in trouble.”  

“Where did you look for him?”  

“Every courtyard and tree from the main building to this place,” the guard grunted curtly. “But this is too huge and full of stones. I would not hear him, even if he is actually kept in the stronghold,” he warned ominously.  

“Let us get out of here,” Oropher groaned, grabbing his guard by his shoulder and dragging him along the path before they interrupted Gil-galad’s dedicated courtship with a formal accusation of abduction. “Did you ask anyone?” he asked patiently once they were at safe distance from what he supposed was the king’s private garden.  

“And shame you, my lord?” the guard seemed troubled by the mere thought. “A Silvan never loses his way...nor is caught without a fight!”  

“You are right, of course,” Oropher agreed with a scowl, despite the fact that the missing guard was of Nandorin descent. The troop commander would die of a fit of laughter if he ever got word of this –Oropher  told himself, wincing as he remembered how he had mocked the skills of Hîrvegil’s scouts earlier. Of course he could not go now and admit that he had *lost* one of his guards.  “Let us go back to our chambers, to see if he has returned there by chance. If he has not, we will decide our next steps.”  

“After you,” the guard grunted gruffly, crossing his arms stubbornly. It took a moment for Oropher to realize that Idhren, too, was lost.  

“But…whence did you come, then?” he could not help asking. He sighed in dismay as the guard reluctantly pointed at an open window in a building behind them.  

“At least you left your bow in your chambers,” Oropher observed with relief. A gruff, wild-looking Silvan caught trespassing into someone’s lodgings armed with a yew longbow would cause severe distress to their diplomatic mission, he reasoned, choosing to overlook the fact that the two long and deadly sharpened knives strapped to Idhren’s sides would have had the same effect, had he been caught. “Come, let us follow this path, the gardener said it led straight to the back door of the main dining room…”  

Since they had agreed to first check their chambers in case Bronadel had gone there, they soon disregarded the gardener's instructions and took the first turn available that seemed to take them back to the front side of the building where the main corridors and courtyards lay. And so they managed to get lost again.  

“I am sure that it is this way…”  

“We should have followed the path until we got to the main dining room, which is one level below the council room. We could retrace our steps from there…”  

“I do not know, since I have not been to the council room, but I do remember this yard, and this fountain and these beeches, and I tell you that our chambers are over there…”  

“Trust your guard, Oropher; he has better sense of direction than yourself…” The rough, if faintly amused voice cut Oropher’s retort. He turned around to find Maentêw watching them from one of the windows that opened to the courtyard. “Your chambers must be in the rowan courtyard, the second from this one, in the main building,” he explained, waving in the direction Idhren had chosen.  

“Meaning that we are more important guests than yourself, since we are lodged in the main building?” Oropher’s patience was growing too thin not to allow himself a bout of mean witticism.  

“Meaning that the Steward is sure that I will not wander around and get lost,” Maentêw retorted good naturedly. “Not with this leg,” he added then, more soberly. “I saw one of your guards -I suppose he was, since he wore your coulours- speaking with Lord Glorfindel earlier, if that is what you were looking for,” he added, “and then they walked away together.”  

“See?” the guard’s voice sounded ominous. Oropher rolled his eyes.  

“Wait, Idhren, Lord Glorfindel did not strike me as particularly dangerous…only exasperating. Where did you see them?” he asked then his former friend, who now leaned heavily on the open window.  

“Before the library. You have no idea of who Glorfindel is, have you, Oropher?” Maentêw chuckled despite his now obvious discomfort. “I must sit now,” he panted, wincing in pain. “If there is anything that you want to argue about you know where to find me…if you do not get lost again,” he still managed to joke, closing the window and pulling a heavy curtain to hide from their sight.  

“Shall we search that library, then? He sounded as if this Glorfindel is no common lord.”  

“Ah, here you are, Lord Oropher!” Again a voice interrupted him when he was about to lose his patience. “Lord Elrond asked me to look for you. He feared you would miss dinner…I am Taranel, King Gil-galad’s secretary,” the smiling, gentle-looking Elf introduced himself hurriedly, seeing the frown in the guard’s face. “If you two would follow me…”  

“I… one of my...”  

“I had word sent to your other guard, my lord,” he informed them with a courteous smile. “He is also welcome for the night meal. This way, if you please?”  As he was leading, Taranel missed the heated –if muted- exchange between Oropher and his stubborn guard who finally agreed grudgingly to follow them, instead of raiding the library, wherever this might lie, in search of his missing companion.  

“I must apologize if we have been somewhat remiss in our hospitality, Lord Oropher,” Taranel offered as he guided them through a well lit stone arch into an exquisitely furnished hall. “There is much commotion in the house these days, what with tomorrow’s event, and then people arriving and all…But please let me know if you lack anything…”  

Tomorrow’s event? Gil-galad is betrothing himself to that lady and I arrive in time to witness it?” Oropher could not hold back a chuckle. The thought that the king could be already married never crossed his mind, since he still saw him as the fledgling ruler he had left behind several ennin ago. Surely the news of his coming must have dampened Gil-galad’s joy, he thought amusedly. “I understand perfectly, Master Taranel, be at ease. Certain moments are simply to be treasured,” he added pompously, and then felt a bit offended that his magnanimous comment was met by a puzzled look and a noncommittal grunt by the otherwise extraordinarily well-mannered secretary.  

The well-known sound of Erestor’s voice blowing at its coldest saved him from bringing up another subject for conversation. Instead, he and Taranel were suddenly very busy hurrying after Idhren, who had bolted towards the voice with the eagerness of a hound who has just picked up a fresh scent.  

                                               ~*~  *  ~*~  

Glorfindel glowed his way happily to the main dining hall, smiling and bowing courteously at the maids he met on his way, hurrying to fulfill who knows what important tasks and still managing to cross his path again -and smile at him- every twenty paces or so.  

“The light of a reborn is even brighter than that of those who beheld the Trees, child, for it shines with the strength of a fëa that has been renewed.” Lady Vairë’s reassuring voice still echoed in his ears. “The joy of a new fëa is something not even Yavanna could ever recreate,” the Valier had added then with gentle irony.  

It was as if the deep peace that pervaded him and his clear understanding of things that were beyond grasp –gifts obtained after his healing sojourn in the Halls- shone from within his fëa and bathed those around him. He feared nothing and no one, and he saw deeper and farther than any other Elf in Middle-earth, save perhaps Círdan, and his inner light reflected his harmony with Arda, rekindling hope and attracting people to its blazing trail, or at least it had been so back in Aman.  

“You can shroud it as you see fit, but nothing in Arda -save death- has the power to quench the pure light of a reborn, Glorfindel.”  

“Lord Glorfindel!”  

The Lady Vairë had never met Master Erestor, Glorfindel thought dryly, as he instinctively dimmed and cloaked his bright appearance, before peeking through the open door to Gil-galad’s chief counselor’s study.  

“You were by chance calling my name, or was that one of your musical moments, Master Erestor?” he asked innocently, entering the impossibly neat study. The chief counselor stood by the fireplace, reading several parchments at the same time, and apparently did not notice the sarcasm.  

“The linens in your chambers have been changed seven times in the past two days, Lord Glorfindel,” the counselor grunted without lifting his eyes from his reading.  

“Does it say so in those parchments?” Glorfindel marveled. “I know nothing of it, Master Erestor,” he added in a conveniently humble voice at the murderous glance that suddenly speared him through. “But now that you mention it, I thought of informing you about the unusual flood of maids around that wing…I carried out a research and found out that I am the only guest staying in that area, so perhaps there is some problem with the rotations, something that surely will not require the full attention of the King’s chief counselor,” he added graciously. “Unless linen is considered a strategic issue in Lindon…”  

“You would be surprised to learn what Shipwrights and Mariners consider strategic issues, Lord Glorfindel,” Erestor retorted venomously. “At this moment we are all quite frantically involved in housekeeping duties for special reasons...And you know perfectly well why maids crowd around your quarters…and everywhere you go.”  

“It is not my fault, Master Erestor… I do not understand what all this fuss is about. Some of the King’s captains are Calaquendi as well…”  

“Yet none of them is so ostentatious in his display! You blaze so inconsiderately that…”  

“Why would I refuse to share the light that comes from the One, the very joy of creation?”  

“…That one of these days you will outshine Eärendil himself. Of course, Elrond can always make use of your talents to signal his position to his Adar but still…”  

“Lord Eärendil is always perfectly aware of his son’s whereabouts, Master Erestor,” Glorfindel explained soberly. Provoking the king’s counselor was his pleasure, but in good faith he could not let pass a chance of enlightening his audience.  

“So he needs not your permanent glowing, as if you were a one-elf duplicate of the Tower of Barad Nimras!”  

“Curious, that you should mention the tower! Regarding the matter of the household linen, I remember a conversation with Lady Aredhel that surely…”  

“Lord Glorfindel!”  

Erestor’s growl had been freezing cold, but before he could answer, he perceived a new threat behind him. In a fluid motion Glorfindel glided to his side and turned around, to find himself faced with a crown of dark chestnut hair that topped a menacing-looking Elf. The fact that said Elf had to crane his neck to look into his prey’s eyes did not mar the impression, in Glorfindel’s opinion, that he had been tracked by the newly incarnate fëa of Celegorm’s hound.  

“Ah, Lord Glorfindel, Master Erestor!” the face of Gil-galad’s secretary as he followed the angry-looking Elf into the study showed a curious mixture of aggravation, amusement and relief.  

“Master Taranel?”  

“I was guiding Lord Oropher and his guard to the dining hall…”  

“Something must have happened along the way, then, since the dining hall is not in my study –nor has ever been…” Erestor looked pointedly at the stern Silvan guard, who watched Glorfindel intently.  

“Yes, of course, but…”  

“Is there anything that Lord Glorfindel or I can do for you…or for your guard, Lord Oropher?” Erestor finally offered, his eyebrows rising impossibly high to flee his mounting annoyance.  

“The dining hall?” Guessing that his menacing tracker would not try to dispose of him immediately, Glorfindel risked a hopeful smile. “I was going there as well. Care to join us, Master Erestor? You can rant about the bed linen while we eat. That seems not fare enough for a counsellor who is burdened with such heavy matters of state,” he prodded merrily, pointing at the plate with bread and cheese on the counsellor’s desk.  

While Erestor growled and Taranel chuckled, Glorfindel passed an arm over his hunter’s shoulders in a clever move, openly turning aggression into friendship while steering him towards the door, waving for the others to follow them. “You must be Idhren, are you not?” he addressed the tense guard, who nodded gruffly in assent. “I met your friend Bronadel earlier.”   

“And where is he, now?”   

Glorfindel looked back in surprise, for the almost panicked question had come from Erestor, who knew him too well to suspect any discourtesy towards the King’s guests from his part. He sighed, as they all proceeded along the corridors.  

“He asked me for a way down to the city. Apparently he was looking for a distant relative… who turned out to be Master Curuhen, the chief forester’s assistant… ”  

“Indeed!” Idhren relaxed visibly. “Bronadel wondered if he would be able to locate him…”  

“And you left Lord Oropher’s guard where, Lord Glorfindel?” The golden reborn elf shook his head patiently. It was beyond his understanding why Master Erestor always used that condescending, exasperated tone with him.  

“In Master Curuhen’s workshop, naturally.”  

“And was he there?”  

“Of course he was not!” Now Glorfindel was sure that worrying about the household issues was dulling Erestor’s wits dangerously. "Surely you remember that Curuhen was sent with Gildor’s patrol to explore those strange claims of the men in that settlement beside the Great Old Forest…”  

“…At my behest, if you remember,” Erestor ended curtly. “So that leads me back to my question, which I should have phrased more accurately, it seems. In whose company did you leave Lord Oropher’s guard, since Curuhen is currently abroad?”  

“Curuhen’s wife and one of their sons were at the workshop…and they were only too glad to welcome Bronadel,” Glorfindel explained mildly. “They offered to escort him back after dinner,” he turned then to Idhren, and was pleased to see that the guard assented gravely, apparently satisfied by his explanations.  

“I am most glad to see that the position as official thorn on the King and his chief counsellor’s side has been filled by someone so talented,” Oropher chimed in, chuckling helplessly at Erestor’s scowl and Taranel’s horrified gasp.  

“If you mean by Lord Glorfindel, I regret to tell you that you are sorely misinformed, Lord Oropher,” Erestor retorted. “He was sent to offer help and counsel against the shadow of evil that might arise anew, and to help unite those who would oppose it.”  

“Exactly,” Glorfindel said, turning to face Oropher and casting a grateful look at Erestor. Was that irony on the counsellor’s smirk?  “What had you thought?” he asked the Sindarin lord kindly.  

“He thought that you were here to provoke Gil-galad and myself, and help us get rid of boredom and routine…As it was his privilege in his time,” Erestor blurted. Glorfindel smiled courteously at that.  

“I fear I do not understand…”  

“It is of no consequence, Lord Glorfindel,” Oropher said hurriedly. “I must have mistaken the king’s enthusiasm for exasperation…”  

“Here we are!” Taranel’s voice sounded a bit strained in Glorfindel’s opinion, as he opened the door to the dining hall.  

Meals were seldom a ceremonial occurrence in Lindon, as Glorfindel had experienced since his arrival there a sun-round ago. Most often consisted on an undetermined number of members of the king’s staff gathering at the dining hall or even the large kitchen and helping themselves from trays of different dishes on display on a long side table. Glorfindel liked the custom, for it enhanced informal communication among the king’s closest assistants in a relaxed atmosphere. And it also allowed him to observe them freely, without the constraints of a more formal setting.  

It was quite late tonight, and only Elrond, Hîrvegil and Taurlong, the captain of the King’s guard, remained at the table, savouring a last goblet of wine over a couple of parchments.  

“Look who is there! I heard that you managed to lose one of your guards, Lord Oropher,” Hîrvegil greeted them cheerfully.  

“Says the troop commander one of whose captains just managed to lose a couple of scouts and two mules in a forest,” Erestor retorted sharply while Orpher regally disregarded the jab, busy inspecting the food on the side table.

“The news spread quickly…” the troop commander cast then a worried look at Erestor.  

“Gildor’s messenger met me right after seeing you. I do more than keeping track of Lord Glorfindel’s finery,” Erestor shrugged, and a chorus of laughter followed his remark. Glorfindel looked around and smiled politely. Of course he knew that they were baiting him. He could read them clearly, yet it made him wonder that they never seemed to pick up his own jokes, so he decided to remain silent. Only Círdan –and Elrond- seemed completely at ease in his presence, but the Shipwright was surely down at the quays, overseeing all details for tomorrow’s event, he pondered sadly.  

“Shall we tell Gil-galad?” Elrond asked doubtfully.

“What is the problem?” Taranel chimed in. All faces turned to the troop commander’s undoubtedly worried face.  

“I asked Gildor to take a handful of warriors and foresters and join the Númenoreans who went to explore the Great Old Forest to the north east, beyond the Downs… Do you remember that the settlers complained that there were evil and strange things going on there?”  

All assented. The Men in the settlements around Nenuial and the hills to the east were friendly to the elves, but they felt more comfortable confiding their worries to the Númenoreans, whom, in turn, went to the Elven King for counsel about the lands.  

“Gildor has just sent a worrying message,” Hîrvegil continued, smiling forcedly, “saying that the forest is actually full of strange and malevolent creatures, as the Men complained. Two of the Men’s mules were –ah…quite…trapped by trees, apparently, and they also lost track of the riders, although they cannot tell in which direction, because suddenly the forest began to close in around them, forcing them towards a marshland, and they had to fight their way back with torches…”  

“I doubt that Gil-galad could do anything about that tonight,” Taranel observed dryly, breaking the long silence that followed Hîrvegil’s account.  

“Chieftain Baghan reported similar incidents on his way here,” Elrond informed slowly. “He said that the remaining forests in Enedwaith and Mininhiriath were full of tension and mistrust…and that the trees set deathly traps on unsuspecting travelers.”  

“Did the Druadan cross the Old Forest?” Taurlong inquired. Elrond shrugged.  

“He did not tell…”  

“The black-hearted trees can walk long distances,” Oropher’s guard said then, amidst the heavy silence. “And there are other things deep in the forests that are rotten and like not living creatures.”  

“You mean like the darkness that you observed in your forest, Lord Oropher?” Hîrvegil’s voice had lost now all traces of animosity, Glorfindel noticed. Oropher and his guard exchanged a brief glance, and then the king nodded silently.  

“It is not necessarily the same thing,” the guard explained.  “There are places, deep in the forests, where the trees are wild and dangerous, yet still trees. But there are other evil things that sleep deep in the roots of the land and may awake at the slightest provocation –the houseless, it is said among us, but also evil beings that were chased away into hiding at the time when the Great Hunter still roamed the lands of Hither.” 

“You surely are more familiar with these eerie things than the rest of us, Lord Glorfindel,” Hîrvegil said then. The golden elf-lord shook his head thoughtfully.  

“Master Idhren is right, I think,” he sighed, refraining from commenting that he had spent the greatest part of the last sun-round, since his arrival in Middle-earth, exploring the borders of Lindon and studying the mannish settlements beyond the borders. “Not all evil things were allied with Morgoth, yet all rejoice when darkness gathers. I’d say that we need a deeper search of that Old Forest, and a closer view of what is going on to the east…”  

“That is exactly what we intend to propose to Gil-galad,” Hîrvegil nodded seriously.

“And we will need a deeper knowledge of what is going on beyond the mountains,” Taurlong added, looking at Oropher, who kept his gaze impassively. It seemed to Glorfindel that the Sindarin lord could not hide a minute wince, and he wondered about the reasons behind his apparent reluctance.  

“We will discuss that tomorrow, our guests have travelled far and surely will be eager to retire early,” Elrond suggested with a courteous smile.  

“Not to mention that you all want to check your finery for tomorrow’s event,” Oropher added with kind sympathy. Glorfindel raised surprised eyes from his goblet and caught the equally perplexed looks around the table.  

“Eh…Oh! It was a joke, was it?” Elrond finally managed, as the rest pretended not to pay attention to the conversation.  Even Glorfindel, who had just met the Sindarin lord, could tell that had been a wrong decision.  

“I was not joking,” he retorted seriously. “Actually, I would like to attend.”  

“It is a very simple ceremony, Lord Oropher,” Erestor began placatingly.  

“Only close kin and friends…” added Elrond.  

“I doubt that huge numbers of close kin will be disturbed by my presence in this particular case,” Oropher grunted, clearly set on witnessing the ceremony even if he had to dress up as an adornment.  The King's secretary chose to feel affronted by this statement.

“That was most discourteous, Lord Oropher.”

“I cannot see how a plain truth can be considered a discourtesy, Master Taranel.”  

“Do not be so humble, Oropher,” Erestor retorted. “We all know your talents…” 

“I am overwhelmed, Erestor.”  

“As if such a thing were possible…”  

“I will be glad to escort you, Lord Oropher. The main quay at sunset. I am a newcomer as well, so they cannot understand our interest in witnessing such a thing…But no finery is needed,” Glorfindel chimed in to put an end to the discussion. By the startled look on the Sindarin lord’s eyes he feared that he was ready to continue with the argument, but thankfully the door opened and an errand-runner whispered something into Taranel’s ear and then bowed and disappeared discreetly.  

“Your missing guard is back in his room, Lord Oropher,” the king’s secretary informed with wicked glee.

                                                  ~*~  *  ~*~

Dinner ended not a moment too early in Oropher’s opinion.  

Idhren had been restless, unconvinced and ready to pounce on Lord Glorfindel in order to extract from him the truth of Bronadel’s whereabouts –in a painful manner, preferably. It had taken all of Oropher’s authority to restrain him. And then the news about the dark things in a forest apparently not so distant from the Havens had filled him with dread. A new shadow was definitely spreading across Middle-earth and, no matter how much he disliked the prospect, he knew that he would not be able to keep himself apart from the decisions undertaken beyond the eaves of his peaceful forest, a forest that was also besieged by inexplicable darkness and threats.  

“The page will lead you to your chambers, Lord Oropher,” the king’s secretary informed them at the door. “Breakfast will be served here at sunrise. Have a good rest.”  

The youth led the way carrying one of those crystal lamps which seemed to burn forever without coal or oil. A needless display, Oropher grunted inwardly, since the corridors were splendidly lit.  

“Wait, lad,” he said, placing a hand on their guide's shoulder. “I already know the way to my chambers, and I would like to visit the library before retiring for the night...could you show me where it is?” Oropher tried to ignore the conniving wink that Idhren cast his way.  

“Most certainly, my lord. I will first guide your…”  

“We can both go to the library.” The young Elf opened his eyes in surprise at the feral tone in Idhren’s voice.  

“Just tell me which way and then lead my guard to his room.”  

“And if Bronadel is not there…”  

“Of course, Idhren.”   

Their guide finally gave in with undisguised reluctance, for surely that contravened his orders most thoroughly. He gave precise indications to Oropher resignedly before resuming his way to the guests' area, followed by a tense Idhren.  

Oropher found the entrance to the library easily. He was not completely sure of what he was looking for, but there were several things that disturbed him.  

The golden elf-lord intrigued him, as well as the unusual tension that seemed to colour everybody’s exchanges with him. Surely he was some powerful Exile, but for the life of him he could not place his name or his house. And he also wanted more information about Eregion and the evil aroused there, but he would not ask Maentêw if he could avoid it. He felt outraged –but also strangely saddened- by the fact that his former friend had apparently sought refuge in Lindon rather than crossing the Mountains and joining his kin in Lórinand.  

The library was a long stone hall with shelves carved on the walls and wooden bookcases that towered high and ran aligned in several parallel corridors to the other end of the chamber. Oropher picked up one of those crystal lamps from a huge desk at the entrance and began his search idly, picking up leather volumes or carefully bounded sheaves of parchments randomly –and discarding them lazily.  

“Poisonous roots!” he cursed softly, dropping a book with silvery flowing Tengwar on its blue leather cover.  

“Yára Nolohinin” he read with distaste, shaking his hand as if it burnt. How typical of Gil-galad, he thought in annoyance, to keep books in Quenya in his library! His curiosity piqued anyway, he opened it and skimmed the brightly coloured parchments which showed beautiful drawings and short sentences.  

It was a Noldorin book of lore for children, he surmised, seeing the famed Two Trees of Aman shining in all their glory, and other trees he had never seen and he presumed must have grown in the Blessed Realm. Perhaps that was one of the few treasures left of Elrond’s childhood, it suddenly occurred to him, and for the first time he felt a twinge of compassion at the half-elf’s hard life. A couple of hissing voices behind the farthest line of bookcases brought him out of his bout of sympathy.  

“Let us ask Oropher!”  

“You saw him today, Elrond. He was not inclined to disclose much about the outline of the lands beyond the Mountains... Not that I fault him. You and I talking about maps…He must still hold that against us!”  

“But this is different…”  

“Ask Maentêw. His knowledge is the same and he is far more agreeable. Ereinion would not mind knowing that Maentêw took part...If my own memories of Doriath are not enough for you.”  

“Maentêw’s leg is shattered to pieces! He cannot walk down to the maps room and help us! And I would not risk carrying it all upstairs…”  

“And Oropher will insist on meddling in everything…did you hear him today? Why on Arda was he so keen on attending tomorrow’s event?”  

“Calm down, Erestor. Perhaps, as Glorfindel said, they are newcomers; they have never seen it...Look, this is what I was looking for, we can go now.”  

“Oropher has, trust me.”  

Oropher hardly managed to hold back a quiet laugh.  Of course he had! He had attended more betrothals than he cared to remember; his own son’s most recently, in a magnificent display of joyous trees and elves that no seaside ceremony could ever match, of that he was sure.  

“He is plotting something,” Erestor continued ominously. “And what was that comment about the finery? What does he know?”  

“Perhaps he heard something? You are openly distressed by the household linen issue, if you do not mind my saying…” Elrond chuckled. Oropher could not see them but now it sounded as if they were getting closer to his position, so he began looking around frantically, searching for an escape route or a hiding place.  

“Not that you and Hîrvegil are faring much better with the kitchens, my friend,” Erestor retorted crossly.  

“We do what we can. But it is not easy…”  

“Of course it is not! It looked like a great idea then, to oversee the household tasks for a while so Miluinn would see that we could actually manage for ourselves and would not feel guilty, but now I just want to get over with it all and forget about laundry and bed linen…”  

Oropher kept walking silently in the opposite direction, until he reached the end of the bookcase-lined corridor, so he did not hear Elrond’s answer. Gil-galad is marrying the housekeeper? He wondered. He covered his lamp with his cloak and waited in silence. Elrond and Erestor seemed to be approaching the door, so if he remained there in silence and darkness he had a good chance of not being seen.  

“I will find a way to trick Oropher into helping us,” Elrond affirmed, placing his lamp on the table. “There is the slightest chance that he might even enjoy it…”  

I will, Peredhel, Oropher vowed darkly, all protective feelings towards the orphaned half-elf forgotten. But there is the slightest chance that you will not enjoy it as much as you expect!  

“At your own risk, Peredhel,” Erestor sighed, as he held the door open. “I cannot see the point of enlisting him in this task…or Glorfindel, by the way. No one knows how Gondolin looked like, so why bother?” he sentenced, closing the door and leaving behind a dumbstruck Oropher.  

Even *he* had heard of the Hidden City of the Noldor.

TBC

Vairë The Weaver: is Mandos’ wife. As I see it, she would instruct the reborn as they were released, showing them their old lives and their renewed, bright threads in her tapestries.

The tower of Barad Nimras: In his short career as the most prolific architect in Beleriand, Finrod built the tower of Barad Nimras in the Havens. The official reason was to set a permanent watch over the Belegaer, in case Morgoth attacked from the Sea.

Celegorm's hound: Huan.

Enedwaith and Mininhiriath. The lands between the Isengard and what later became The Shire (roughly speaking)